Control
by JamieTyler
Summary: Well, it looks like Frank has finaly lost it.... Don't ask, just read. Enjoy.
1. Little Boy Scared

**Control **

So a funny thing happened today, my computer crashed and i lost the next three chapters to Pine Box. Yeah, um, sorry. Here's something from my twisted little min to hold you over til I get them back. enjoy.

**

* * *

**

**Little Boy Scared**

It was a cool fall evening, and the park was littered with leaves. There were the gleeful sounds of children all around. The soft whispers, and tender embraces of lovers. The playful dogs barked while they chased birds. Everyone was enjoying the October afternoon. Everyone except for sixteen-year-old Frank Hardy.

He walked, head down, shoulders slumped, hands in pocket, down a semi-abandoned bike path. One that appeared to only be used by secretive lovers and others attracted to the shadows. His gray hoody was zipped up to his chin, the hood hiding most of his face. He was breathing, that kind of rigid breathing one has when they are trying to control their emotions, and failing.

It had been almost five hours since the fight, but still it seemed so recent. He knew that he should probably go back now. Go home and apologize, because he knew that he'd done something wrong, only he no longer was sure of what. But he knew that as soon as he went home, as soon as he apologized, and explained, it would all be alright. He knew eventually he had to go home, or that someone would find him and make him go home, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"You're supposed to be the responsible one Frank. The one that we don't always have to worry about! The one we can depend on! This isn't like you at all!"

'Joe always gets away with stuff! He always gets off easy! Nothing he ever does is wrong! Not even when he takes my stuff, or tackles me in the middle of working! Everything he ever does is passed off as him just being Joe! But the moment I mess up, no the second I mess up, they jump all over me! They wouldn't even let me explain! Maybe I was trying to be responsible! Maybe I was trying to do the right thing! How the hell would you know? You wouldn't even listen to me!"

Frank stopped walking and started to rub his eyes, trying to stop the tears that started to fall, but with little success. So he gave up and continued walking. The tears were getting thicker, the path rougher, more overgrown. The sky was harder to see, and the air colder, of course it could just be his imagination. Nonetheless, every instinct told him that he should go home. That he should just go back, but there was something in his mind that told him to keep heading forward. That home was no more.

'But they've got to be worried. They have to have noticed by now that I'm gone. I can go back, they'll listen to me. They'll understand. I'll just tell them what happened, I'll tell them everything. They'll understand.'

"I don't understand you anymore Frank! I don't understand how you could do something like this! I never thought I'd see the day that I'd be disappointed in you."

Frank swallowed hard and quickened his pace. The path took an unexpected dip, and Frank was caught off guard. He fell, stretching his right arm out to catch him but instead buckled under his weight and snapped. Frank screamed and rolled on to his back, clutching the wounded limb tightly to his chest. And finally, with all energy going to the injury, the emotions he had been holding back broke free and he began to cry out in heartbreak.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I didn't mean! It wasn't my fault! Please dad! Daddy I can explain! Please!"

Frank cried until he couldn't anymore, and then just lay silent for a moment, shaking. Once he had regained some of his composure, he rolled onto his knees and tried to stand, but found himself too weak, and he fell back on his knees. He was about to try to stand again, when a strong arm wrapped around him.

Frank cried out as the arm came in contact with his injured arm, and pressure was applied. A hand was pressed over his mouth, and what would have been a soothing voice, if Frank didn't know the man behind it, said, "Hush now boy. You wouldn't want to attract prying eyes, now would you?" Frank started to struggle against the arms that held him, but with one tug on his injured arm he quickly submitted to the man.

"Now, I'm going to remove my hand from your mouth. There will be no yelling. Alright?" Frank nodded, and the hand over his mouth was removed. Still with one arm wrapped around Frank, the man reached behind his back and pulled out a knife. He took a hold of Frank's injured wrist and pressed the knife against his wrist.

"Please don't," whimpered Frank, sounding more like a frightened child than a sixteen year old.

"Sh, shhh. It's alright, just a little cut. It'll all be over in a few minutes."

"No, please, no…."

But Frank's pleas were ignored. The man pressed the knife into Frank's wrist until he drew blood, and then dragged it at an angle across his wrist. Frank hissed at the sharp pain he felt. The man repeated his actions on the other wrist, then pulled Frank into his lap. He held Frank like a father would hold his frightened child, rocking him slightly and humming.

"It is all going to be fine. Everything will all be alright. Things will be perfect. You are just going to sleep for a time," the man went on, but Frank couldn't hear everything. His focus was going in and out. There was a cold darkness that was starting to surround him, and he was frightened of it.

'No, I…I can't go to sleep. Can't close my eyes. I have to stay awake…' Frank thought as he began to struggle in the arms of the man, trying to stay awake.

"Shhh. Just sleep, it is alright, everything is fine. Just rest; if you keep fighting you will just get hurt."

'He's right, every time I move I hurt…and I'm so tired…I'm…so…tired…I'll just…I'll just closed my eyes…just for a moment…" and Frank gave into the darkness.


	2. Little Boy Lost

**Little Boy Lost**

"Did you find any sign of him, Fenton?" A very worried Laura asked her husband, as he entered their house.

"Nothing. I don't even know how long he's been gone. I've checked every place I could think of. The mall, the school, his favorite running path, even Mr. Pizza. He's not there!" Fenton exclaimed, as he forcefully removed his jacket and threw it on the coat rack.

"Well, has anyone seen him?" Laura asked, following him into the living room.

"No one wants anything to do with him! He's pissed everyone off!" Fenton exclaimed as he flopped down on the couch.

"What's gotten into him Fenton? What's happened to him? I don't understand why he's acting this way," Laura said, sitting down next to her husband.

Fenton took her hand in his and ran his free hand through his hair, "I don't know either Laura. This isn't the son we raised."

"Do you think that maybe he's just rebelling in some way? That this is just something that he needs to work out? You know; typical teenage stuff?"

"Typical teenagers don't attack their brother, and they don't hit their teacher. They don't manage to piss every single one of their friends off in a week, and they don't go running off leavening their parents worried. They don't try to isolate themselves. No, something else is wrong; it's not just typical teen stuff," Fenton said, sighing.

"What do you think it is? Drugs?"

"Maybe it is. At this point, honestly, I wouldn't put it past him."

"But why, how? I don't understand, Frank would never…."

"He would also never attack his younger brother," Fenton grumbled. "How is Joe by the way?"

"Quiet. He's been up in his room since you left. I think he's asleep, I haven't heard anything from him. Maybe you should go check on him," she suggested, "He won't talk to me."

"Hmm… wonder why. He's probably in shock. I'll go up in a few minutes, but first give me a chance to calm down," Fenton said, squeezing Laura's hand.


	3. Diary of the Controlled

**Diary of the Controlled**

Fifteen year old Joe sat in a fetal position at the top of the stairs, listening to his parents. His face was growing more painful by the minute from where Frank had hit it, and he was sure it was going to look like a four year old's art project. Never before could he remember ever being too alone, hurt, confused, betrayed, and angry. Listening to his parents only seemed to make it worse.

'How can they think he's doing drugs? That's not Frank! Frank would never do anything like that!' He thought, as he stood. 'Then again, Frank would never hit you, but he did…' Joe sighed and looked down the hall. 'There has to be a reason, something had to have happened.' He headed for Frank's room, hoping to find answers. 'Yeah, he lost it…' When he entered Frank's room, he was shocked by what he saw.

Frank's room was a mess; nowhere near as messy as Joe's, but for Frank, it looked like a storm had hit. There were papers scattered unorganized all over his desk. The bed wasn't made and had clothes piled on it. There were more books on the floor than on his shelves, all of them opened to random pages.

Joe was a little unsettled by what he saw. His whole life Frank had been so neat, so organized and responsible. Joe had never seen Frank snap. Sure there had been fights when they were younger, and Frank definitely lost his temper. But he never lost it; he never attacked anyone. Not like today.

Joe walked over to Frank's desk and glanced at the papers scattered around it. He sighed and started to shift through them, when he came upon a spiral journal with the words 'Private Thoughts' on it. 'I didn't know Frank had a Journal,' Joe thought, slightly amused as he flipped through it, not really looking. The most recent entry that he found was one called "Control," and the name alone sent shivers through his body. Joe started to read it, but stopped before he finished the first line.

'This is wrong. This is Frank's, I shouldn't be doing this; it's not right. But what if it explains why he's been so weird?' Joe took a deep breath and began to read the entry.

"Control

Everything is about control; there are always those who demand it, and always those who need it. Type A personalities are the ones who most likely demand control, while Type B personalities are the ones who most often seek it. At least, that's what I've noticed.

I always thought of myself as outgoing, smart, friendly, and, well, the typical type A personality. However, lately I've started questing that. Sir says that it's normal. To feel one way when in reality you are a completely different way. He says I'm susceptible to other's influences at this age and that once I fall in line everything will become clear.

I'm worried though. I mean, Sir makes it really hard to obey him, but I'm trying. I don't want to give into him, but I don't know who else I can trust. Everything he's told me is true, at least I think it is. He says that right now I am lead too easily. That at sixteen no matter how smart I am, how strong my mind, there will always be others who will try, and will still be able to control me. For an example, he used my family.

He pointed out to me that Joe gets away with everything. That because of who he is; a star athlete, and a class clown of sorts. People know how to handle him better. They relate to him better. Sir says that even though they may not realize it, they treat him better than me because of that. And I've started to notice that it's true.

All of the responsibilities are shoved on me. It's always 'Frank's in charge,' 'Frank can you….' It's been that way as far back as I can remember. Sir says it's because I'm the eldest, so they expect more from me. Sir says that because I want to please them, because I want their respect, I have live up to their expectations. I do everything they ask, and thus they control me.

Sir says this kind of control is bad. That when you are controlled by your parents, and try to please them, that you can't realize your full potential. They hinder your ability to judge things for yourself. They weigh you down with their own beliefs and values. But he says that when an outside person steps in, and takes control of a young mind, then they can help expand it.

He wants to help me. But I don't know, I'm not sure. Because if he helps me, then that means I have to give control of my life to him. I'm not sure I want to do that. I love my family, but what he said about Joe and me, I see that's true. He wasn't lying to me. But I'm still not sure."

Joe felt like he was going to be sick. He was stunned, and he could feel his eyes beginning to burn with tears. Shakily, he turned to the first entry and began to read.

Each entry showed Frank in a different stage of what Joe could only call brain washing. 'Frank didn't just lose it.' Joe thought as he scanned through the Journal again. "Someone was doing this to him.' Joe stood, and walked out the room with the journal, 'Dad has to see this.'


	4. Faith of a Brother

**Faith of a Brother**

"When do you think he'll be come back?" Laura asked as she looked through the cabinets for something to cook. They had moved into the kitchen, thinking that if she cooked something, people would remember that they were hungry and eat. Outside she appeared relatively strong, though Fenton knew for a fact that inside, she was a mess.

'You've really done it Frank. I wish you could see what you have done. I have no idea what you were thinking, why you would do this. What, you wanted attention? Well you have it. What is going through your head?' Fenton thought as he watched his wife.

"I don't know Laura. He's very upset, but he could come back at any minute or..."

"Or not at all. He could have no intention of returning," Laura finished, pulling down a can of tomato soup, and breathing deeply to regain control of her emotions. "God! I can't believe this is happening! Why would he act like this? Why, God, why would he do something like this? What's gotten into him to make him change so dramatically?"

"Not what. Who," Joe said from the entranceway, startling both his parents. "Someone was controlling him. Someone made him change."

"Oh, Joe," Laura said with a sigh. She walked over to her youngest and hugged him. "Honey, I know you don't want to believe that Frank did something wrong, but honey…."

Joe pushed away from her, his eyes starting to tear. "But he didn't! Read this!" Joe said waving the journal in front of their faces.

"Joe, Frank's not himself…" Fenton began trying to calm his son down, but Joe just opened the journal and began to read from it.

"I always thought of myself as outgoing, smart, friendly, and, well, the typical type A personality. However, lately I've started questing that. Sir says that it's normal. To feel one way when in reality you are a completely different way…. Sir makes it really hard to obey him, but I'm trying. I don't want to give into him, but I don't know who else I can trust…" Joe started to shake, and his father gently removed the Journal from his hands, while his mother held him.

Fenton started to read through the entry, disgust bubbling in him. 'How can he think this? What happened?' Fenton quickly scanned the rest of the entries, the disgust in him growing more at what he saw.

"I missed a few answers on the test today; Sir says I have to stay after the rest of the week to work on it. He says that such trivial mistakes are not acceptable, and being sick is no excuse. If you're well enough to come to school then you should be well enough to take a simple test." "He's picked me. He says I'm special. That I'm better then the others. He wants me to be his student. He says he has a lot he can teach me."

The Journal was full of entries like those. Fenton couldn't believe what he was holding. He shut his eyes and took several breaths before handing the journal off to his wife. Laura took it, tentively, and began to read it. She paled, and had to sit at the table.

"My God…" was all that she could say.

Fenton turned to his youngest and asked, "Where did you find this?"

"In his room, on his desk. Dad do you think that's the reason why Frank lost it? I mean, could that be the reason why he…" Joe couldn't finish the sentence, his throat started to close.

"I don't know Joe, but I think I want Ezra to look at it."

Joe nodded. He had been in his share of fights, and taken a good amount of beatings, but never from Frank. Never had he been afraid of his older brother like he was now. Yet he still couldn't believe, or want to believe, that Frank did this on his own. That Frank could hurt him on his own free will. If there was even the chance that he had been manipulated, then Joe would cling to it.

Fenton saw everything in his son's eyes. He went over and embraced Joe, whispering soothingly to him, "Frank loves us, and he loves you. Whatever happened today was…I don't know what it was, but I know that he loves us. This journal you found, it could explain why he attacked you. But Joe, no matter what we find out, don't give up on him."


	5. Professional Assumptions

Ok, i know it's not Pine Box, i'm still working on that one, but still, come on. You can reviwe once in a while.

**

* * *

**

**Professional Assumptions**

Ezra sat at the Hardys' Kitchen table, sipping coffee while reading the journal. In all his years of law enforcement he had seen things that would sicken the devil himself. He had been to crime scenes where all they could find were severed limbs and walls covered in blood. He had interviewed torture victims, murders, serial killers, kidnap victims, and the list went on. He had done just about everything he could, and had pretty much seen it all.

'So why is one journal freaking me out? There's no real evidence of abuse, no details or stories,' he took another sip off coffee and turned the page as he answered his own question. 'Because it's Frank Hardy, the eldest son of two of your closest friends. Because this is the writing that you've seen from many victims, and this one happens to be the writing of a sixteen-year-old boy who you know wouldn't think like this unless he was being abused. And now, you have to confirm it to his parents.'

Ezra stopped reading. When Fenton had called him, and explained what had happened, what Joe had found, he had left work early and almost gotten a ticket driving over. As soon as he read the first entry he knew the answer to almost all of Fenton's questions, but he was just buying time. Trying to prolong the inevitable. However, halfway through "Control" he couldn't stomach it anymore. He closed the journal and just stared at it, while sipping coffee.

Fenton fidgeted impatiently as he waited for Ezra to say something. But Ezra just couldn't find the words to confirm what Fenton already suspected.

"Well?" Fenton said, breaking the silence.

"Well what Fenton?"

"What do you think?"

"I'm not a doctor, all I can make are assumptions."

"Bull shit Ezra."

"What do you want me to say Fenton? You already know what this is! You want me to confirm it? You want me to tell you what you already know? Fine! What it looks like to me is that somebody has been hurting him! Somebody's been abusing him and manipulating him, most likely for months. You want to beat yourself up with that too?" Ezra said, a little angrier then he meant.

Fenton sat silently in his chair, his eyes closed, lost in thought. "Abusing him; this means sexual abuse, since there are no obvious signs of trauma. But Frank's always known that he can come to us. He knows that we will understand and that he doesn't have to go through things alone. He's always been so mature. How come he didn't ask us for help?" Fenton asked, although he knew the answer.

"This is different than a problem with the schoolyard bully. This is much more isolating, much more humiliating. He probably felt that he should have been able to stop it, and to keep it from happening. And when he couldn't, he felt like it was his fault, and the guy probably told them that he would be blamed. In many cases the heart is stronger than reason," Ezra looked at Fenton, and knew with one look that the father was kicking himself. "It's not your fault Fenton."

"The hell it isn't. My own son…I didn't even notice anything was wrong before today. Even today I just thought…."

"About today, what happened?" Ezra asked, sitting up straighter and leaning forward.

"Well, there was a serous problem with Frank at school today. From what I understand, he was late meeting Joe, and so Joe and a few friends went to go find him. They saw him fighting with one of the teachers; the teacher, a Mr. Chessman, was trying to calm him. When Frank started to get really worked up he was afraid that he would start swinging and made a move to restrain Frank: he hit him. Joe rushed to help, and Frank went off on him. Biff had to pull him off. They took him to the office, called Laura and I, and we went to go get them. Laura took Joe to the doctor and I took Frank home." Ezra shook his head, stunned at how Frank had changed.

After a moment he broke the silence that had fallen. "What did Frank have to say? Have there been any reasons or explanations for his actions?"

"No. Like I told you on the phone, he left before I could talk to him. When the school called, I was so pissed. I was past pissed, yet I couldn't understand why. When we were in the car, I couldn't keep my temper. I started yelling at him, and I didn't even give him a chance to talk."

"What the hell were you thinking! What the hell is wrong with you!" Fenton asked as Frank sat silently in the passenger seat. "You punched a teacher, and then beat your brother! JOE! Frank, you beat Joe! What the hell was going through your mind!"

"_I'm sorry…" Frank said in shock, his head bent down, eyes focused on his hands. He looked at them as if they were some foreign object._

"_Sorry! Oh that's real fine Frank. You're suspended for twenty days! The only reason you didn't get expelled was because Mr. Chessman, the teacher you hit, stood up for you! Damn it Frank! You're supposed to be the responsible one! The one that we don't always have to worry about! The one we can always depend on! This isn't you at all!"_

"_I'm sorry, I…."_

"_I don't understand you anymore Frank. The son I raised would never do anything like this. The son I know would never beat his younger brother. I don't understand how you could do something like this. I never thought I'd see the day I was disappointed in you."_

"Tell him how you really feel Fenton," Ezra said finishing off his coffee.

"I feel so stupid now, Ezra. I knew that Frank wouldn't have done anything like that, not normally. I didn't even give him a chance to explain, or even say anything. All I could think about was Joe. Guess I just helped confirm what that asshole was telling him. I should have known something was wrong when he wouldn't even raise his head…"

"Get to your room and don't you dare make a sound. You stay up there until I figure out what to do with you."

_Fenton watched as Frank climbed the stairs, he's head lowered, his posture slumped. He went into the living room and sat on the couch. For the next two hours Fenton stared at a picture of the family that wasn't even three months old. In it was the smiling faces of two very happy boys, and the not so happy mother who was soaking wet and glaring at them._

_It was a picture of them at the lake, during a camping trip, and the boys had dumped a bucket of water on their mother. It was a good day, and Fenton sat trying to figure out what had happened to change it. _

_His concentration was broken as he heard a car pull into the driveway. The engine was cut and a few minutes later, Laura and a bandaged Joe came in. Joe's eyes were downcast, and he was silent; he looked miserable. Laura didn't look much better, her eyes were red from trying to restrain tears. "Are you alright Joe?" Fenton asked gently, meeting them at the door._

_Joe nodded and turned to head upstairs. "Hold on son, I want to talk to Frank before you go up," Fenton said to him. Then he turned to Laura. "I still haven't talked to him. Can you guys stay down here 'til I do?"_

_Laura nodded, "Come on honey, I'll make you something to eat," Laura said as she guided Joe to the kitchen. Fenton climbed the stairs slowly, dreading what was to come. When he reached Frank's room, he hesitated before knocking on the door, 'No one's going to do this for you,' he thought. He gave a sharp knock on the door, and then entered to find a completely empty room with a wide-open window._

I searched everywhere for him. But he was nowhere. I didn't even ask if he was alright."

"Beating yourself up isn't going to help. You know just as well as everyone else that this wasn't your fault. Right now I need you to focus on this as if it was a case. Think of it just like a case; what are the facts? What happened at the fight, what did Frank say? What other behavior has he shown?"

"Joe and Laura would be the ones to ask. I've been away on a case for the last month."


	6. Take Me Through It

**Take me Through It**

"Hey Joe, how you doing?" Ezra said, sitting down next to Joe on the back porch.

"Alright," came the unconvincing reply.

"I need to ask you a few things, is that okay?" Ezra said, as if he was getting ready to interview a victim.

"Yeah sure," Joe said, playing with a leaf that he caught in the wind.

"Has Frank been acting different? Has he been off, aside from today?" Ezra asked.

Joe looked at him suspiciously, anger flashing across his face. "You guys still think this is his fault! You all think that he's doing drugs! Even with the journal!"

Ezra just let Joe rant, knowing that it was just pent up anger and the day's event taking their toll on him. He waited a minute before he spoke, "That's not what anyone thinks anymore. We're all pretty sure that someone is hurting Frank, and we're afraid that someone may have him now. I need you to think very carefully about how Frank has been behaving lately. I need you to tell me when you first started to notice his change in behavior, and if it was linked to someone or something. Ok?"

Joe crumpled the leaf in his hand, and let the wind blow the pieces away. He took a moment to think about what Ezra said, and then nodded, knowing the older man was right.

"Ok, what can you tell me?"

"He's been moody. He gets a certain way when he's trying to solve something, like when there's a problem and he's trying to work it out. That's how he's been acting lately. He's been quiet, withdrawn. He'd snap at us sometimes if we bothered him. Someday he was like a time bomb waiting to go off, and we never knew what would start it. And then other days he was just Frank."

Ezra nodded, "Do you know when this started?"

Joe closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. 'God, I don't even remember what I got on my last math test…'he thought. "I think a few weeks after school started. I'm not sure," he finally said, looking at Ezra.

"What about today? How was he acting today?"

"He was really moody. He's been snapping at everyone lately. Even managed to piss Callie off, and then this afternoon…. I mean he just seemed really angry and frustrated."

There was another silence as Ezra took in what Joe was saying. "Joe, can you tell me what happened this afternoon, when Frank hit you?"

Joe was suddenly very interested in the ground, and he put all his attention on it. "Joe, I know that you're upset, and you don't want to talk about what happened, but I need you to. I need to know how Frank was acting. I'm not here to blame him," Ezra said gently.

"He didn't know what he was doing, right?" Joe said, looking at Ezra with tears in his eyes.

"I don't know, Joe. I don't think that he would do anything to hurt you if he could help it. And I don't think that he knows exactly what was happening until it was too late. Whoever has been doing this to him wanted him to hurt you. You read the Journals, and a lot of the entries were about you or mentioned you in some way. And whoever has been doing this to him might have him now. That's why I need you to tell me what happened, to take me through the fight."

Joe seemed momentarily satisfied with the answer, then with a shaky voice he began, "Frank wasn't by the van after school, so I went looking for him…"

"Hey Biff, Chet, Iola, wait up!" Joe said calling to his friends who were heading off to their cars. The three stopped and waited for Joe to catch up.

"_Hey Blondie," Iola teased as he put his arm around her waist. "Why are you still here?"_

"_I can't find Frank. He has the keys and the licenses, so I can't go nowhere," Joe said with a shrug._

"_Hmm…I just saw him arguing with Callie inside, by his locker. I think he was giving her the brush off, again. I mean he wasn't really talking to her, he just walked off" Iola said. _

"_That's right next to the black top entrance. Maybe he went out that way," Joe suggested._

_The four friends headed to the black top, where they did indeed find Frank. Frank and Mr. Chessman, a favorite teacher, were standing by the school, arguing. Frank was obviously upset; he was yelling and gesturing wildly with his hands. Mr. Chessman was trying his best to calm Frank. He took Frank's arm and pulled him close, saying something in his ear._

_Joe was about ten feet away when he watched Frank slug Mr. Chessman. He hit him hard enough to make him stumble back into the wall. Joe lunged at his brother, knocking him down just as he was about to take another swing._

"_What the hell are you doing?"_

_But Frank didn't answer; instead he pinned Joe down and began hitting him in the face. "Hey! Frank knock it off? Biff said, pulling Frank off Joe and pushing him into the wall. Frank started to fight with Biff, when Mr. Chessman spoke up. "It's alright Frank, you've proven yourself," his calming British accent soothing the entire group. Frank hesitated but then relaxed, and the realization of what he did sunk in._

"He looked horrified," Joe finished.

"What happened next?" Ezra asked, watching Joe closely.

"We took him to the principal's office. He got suspended. Mom and dad came. Mom took me to the doctors, and dad took him home. Frank was gone by the time we got back, and we've spent the rest of the evening looking for him, well until we found the journal."

Ezra took a moment to submit everything to memory. "Hell of a way to start the weekend."


	7. Talks Among Friends

**Talks Among Friends**

Fenton sat in the living room. He hadn't moved from the couch since Ezra had left. That had been last night; he had gone to set up an appointment with a friend of his, a psychologist that the department used for some cases. He wanted her to look at the journal, just to make sure that they weren't jumping to conclusions. He said he would give Fenton a call later in the day.

Fenton was tired; he hadn't slept all evening. He had been reading and re-reading the journal, trying to find any clues as to whom Frank kept referring to. But the only identity Fenton could give the man was 'Sir.' It was the only name given to him, and there was no description. He had given up at about four that morning, and had just gone to hoping. Hoping that Frank would walk through the door. Hoping that Frank was alright and just outside, so he could put his arms around him and take everything back. But Frank hadn't returned, and with each passing moment Fenton was afraid he was never going to.

He heard Laura get up in the kitchen. She had told him to go to bed, and that she would go and look for Frank for a while. Something inside him, perhaps his great detective instinct, told him there was nothing to find. But he didn't have the heart to tell her; he just nodded and told her to be careful.

Fenton pulled himself up off the couch and went to check on Joe. He walked silently through the upstairs until he reached Joe's room. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. A muffled reply came from inside the room. He called out as he opened the door, "Time to get up Joe. It's almost eleven."

"It's Saturday, Frank," said a mostly asleep Joe, causing Fenton to stop in mid step. For a moment the emptiness he'd been feeling since they found out that Frank ran away threatened to overpower him. He quickly pushed it aside and continued trying to wake his youngest.

"Come on son. You're wasting day light," he said pulling the covers off Joe. Fenton flinched when he saw his youngest. He looked terrible; his entire face was swollen. He's eyes were puffy and red, and his skin was pale, like he hadn't gotten much sleep.

"Mmmmmm…. Not fair," Joe said as he sat up and rubbed his eyes, flinching as his hand came into contact with the injured left eye. It took him a minute to clear his mind enough to realize, it wasn't Frank that was waking him up like every morning. Then he remembered yesterday's events.

"Is he…?" Joe asked, but stopped after he took in his father's appearance.

"No. Your mother is out looking right now. I'm under her orders to get some sleep. I just wanted to get you up and around, and make sure you were ok before I did."

"You've been up all night?"

"I have."

"Hmm. Is it alright if I got over to Biff's today?"

Fenton thought about it for a moment. He wanted to keep Joe close. He didn't want to lose his other son, but on the other hand, this wasn't easy on Joe. Not by far; he was probably taking it harder then ether Laura or himself. Biff was his best friend, and it would do him some good to be able to talk to someone. "Yeah. I think that's a good idea. Eat something before you do though. Your mother left some eggs. Just check it, ok?" Joe nodded, and Fenton brushed Joe's hair with his hand before he left.

Joe got dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, straightened up his hair and went down stairs. He hadn't slept well last night; the house had become suddenly spooky with Frank gone. He had never been afraid of monsters or the dark, that was Frank, but somehow knowing that Frank wasn't in the next room scared Joe. The house was empty now. The kind of empty that came when a loved one was gone and you didn't know where they were or when they were coming back.

With a sigh he went into the kitchen to get breakfast. He found the eggs his mother had left and put them in the microwave to heat up. While he was waiting he gave Biff a call, who seemed surprised to hear from him.

"Hey man, I thought you'd be asleep 'til noon, at least. How you feeling?"

"I'm a little sore, but I'll live. Hey, can you do me a favor?"

"Yeah, sure, what do you need?"

"I need to go back to the school. Think you can take me?"

"Yeah, I get the car today. But why do you need to go to school on a Saturday? I mean you barely go there on a weekday."

"I'll explain everything when you get here, ok?"

"Yeah sure. Be there in a few minutes."

"Thanks Biff."

Joe's eggs finished just as he hung up the phone, and he quickly ate and cleaned up. He was just writing a note to his parents when the doorbell rang. Joe answered the door, to find Biff there waiting.

Biff smiled when he saw Joe, but the smile wavered a little when he took in Joe's face. "Hey Biff, come on in."

Biff took a step inside, glancing unsurely up the stairs. "Is he…?"

"No," Joe said as he disappeared into the living room, Biff quickly following him, "Frank ran off last night, and we haven't heard from him." Joe tried to keep his voice even, calm, but he couldn't quite keep the worry out.

"Figures. What, he couldn't own up?" Biff asked as he and Joe took seats.

"It wasn't his fault Biff, not really."

"You're sticking up for him? After what he did?"

"Biff, just hold on…"

"I mean I know he's your brother, but I had to pull him off of you! I know you two were close but he went ballistic! He just lost it! Come on Joe you can't seriously defend him! I mean, you have to stop pretending that Frank didn't do anything wrong. Frank beat you." Biff said standing up and starting to pace.

"Biff would you shut up and listen to me!" Joe said raising his voice slightly. Biff glared at him, but sat down, saying nothing. Joe picked up the journal that his father left on the table and tossed it at Biff. "Read this, the last entry. Then you tell me if that was Frank."

Biff looked at the journal doubtfully, but decided to humor Joe and flipped to the last entry. It took him a few minutes to read the entry, and he wasn't exactly sure how to take it. Part of him just wanted to say, "So what? This just shows he lost it." But the part of him that knew Frank, the part of him that couldn't believe what he saw, was ready to grab onto this and run with it.

"I don't know Joe. It doesn't prove anything," he said handing it back to him.

"It's enough that my dad called the police, and Chief Collin is going to call a friend of his to look at it."

"Joe, I know you and your parents don't want to believe that Frank has lost it, I mean it's Frank, the world's perfect guy, but…" Biff started, but was interrupted by an angry Joe.

"But what, Biff? What, you think Frank's doing drugs? You think that Frank could just lose it? That he just simply decided that he was sick of being good and dependable so he just loses it? Come on man, how long have you known us? Frank would never just lose it!"

"Yeah, but you said that he could have been doing drugs…."

"That's not what I said."

"Humor me." This time it was Joe's turn to glare as he listened to Biff. "What if he was, what if he got into something and Mr. Chessman found out? What if that was what they were fighting about? And he was just so worked up, so cornered that he lost it."

"Then why didn't Mr. Chessman say something? If he had enough evidence to face Frank, why didn't he say something?"

"I don't know, shock? It's not every day when the school's star pupil turns violent."

Joe sat quietly for a few minutes, thinking. "It's possible. It's doubtful, but possible. That's why we need to go back to the school. I mean, I want to go back to where we were yesterday because I want to see if maybe there was something that could give us a clue."

"Like what? This isn't one of your dad murder cases.'

"Well, if Mr. Chessman confronted Frank, he probably had proof. Like you said, he might have been in shock, so maybe he dropped it. Or maybe Frank dropped something. Or maybe just being back there will help me remember something that I missed. What harm could it do?"

Biff mumbled something, then stood, "Fine, but if you don't find anything then will you just let it go?"

"Biff…."

"Joe, I mean it. If there is nothing solid that backs your theory, will you just let it go? Let your dad and Chief Collin handle it?"

Joe took a deep breath, and sighed. After a moment of tension, he finally agreed, "Fine. But I just want to make sure. I have to, Biff."

"Yeah, I know."

The two boys left, and headed for the school.


	8. MIA

**MIA**

Fenton was awakened by the sound of a door slam. He quickly got up, got dressed, and headed downstairs. He had dared to hope that it was Frank who had come home, but those hopes were dashed as soon as he saw Laura in the living room.

"No luck?" he asked.

Laura was startled by his sudden appearance, and she dropped the picture she had been looking at. As it hit the hard wood floor the frame broke. "Damn it," Laura said as she bent down to pick up the pieces of glass. Fenton went to help her, and picked up the picture she was looking at. It was the same one he had been staring at all night.

"I searched everywhere, Fenton," Laura said as she disappeared into the kitchen. "I found nothing." Fenton sighed as he put the picture down, and followed her. "Where could he have gone?" she said.

"I don't know Laura. I have no idea," Fenton said, as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Fenton, do you think that Joe is right? Do you believe that someone is making Frank do this?" Laura asked, leaning back into him.

"I don't know. I've been thinking about that. Yesterday I was so sure that this was real, so willing to believe anything other then Frank just losing it. But maybe that's all it was. Maybe we just didn't really know our son."

"Don't say that, don't you dare say that! You know very well who Frank is!" Laura exclaimed, pulling away from him.

"Laura that's not what I meant…I mean, I don't know everything about him. Frank's always has been so…so mature. I can't count the times when he's stepped up and taken responsibility for himself, and Joe. He always has this way of holding things together, of staying strong and taking care of everybody else. Maybe he just held too much in. Maybe he never told us how he was really feeling, and it got to be to much for him."

"But why, Fenton, why?

"That seems to be the million dollar question. I wish I had the answer."

The two parents stood in silence, each trapped in their own thoughts, when the phone rang. Fenton sighed and went to answer it.

"Hardy residence, Fenton Hardy speaking…. Oh, hello Ezra…no this isn't a bad time…ok…thank you…thank you very much, I'll be there soon." Fenton hung up. "That was Ezra," he called over his shoulder to Laura. "He's set up an appointment with a friend of his. A Dr. Marshal. He wants me to come down and meet with her, and to bring the journal. Maybe now we can start to answer the why."

* * *

I know that it's short, and i made you wait a long time, but the next chapter will be better. 


	9. The Starting Point

**The Starting Point**

Fenton and Ezra sat quietly, waiting as Dr. Marshal read through Frank's journal. They had been greeted by the forty-year-old woman at a diner within walking distance from the precinct. Fenton and Ezra had brought her up to speed, telling her what had transpired the day before, and then given her the journal. She had been skimming it while they waited for lunch to arrive.

The waitress came back with their lunches just as Marshal was finishing up. She waited for the food to be passed out and the waitress to leave before she said anything. "So Frank left shortly after you brought him home and lectured him. Joe found this journal a few hours later, in Frank's room. Don't take this the wrong way; I'm just trying to understand everything. Are you sure this is Frank's?"

"What do you mean?" Fenton asked her, taking a bite out of a sandwich he really didn't want.

"From what you told me, Joe and Frank are very close, closer in fact then even some twins. For Frank to hurt Joe in any way is going to be a shock. With no justification provided, and no reason that Joe feels is right…." She let the accusation remain unsaid, and decide to take a bite from her hamburger instead.

"Joe wouldn't do that. He knows better then most what making an accusation like this would do. He knows the consequences, what this would do, and he wouldn't do that. Besides, I checked the handwriting before Ezra arrived. To it looked like a match to me, but I'm no expert.

"Alright then. I believe you. But that means that I have bad news for you. I can't be sure, and with out actually talking to Frank I won't swear to it, but I am almost sure that someone has been manipulating Frank. You can tell, the seventh entry," she said, opening the journal to an entry entitled "Convinced." "See where it says 'I have seen it for myself that he hasn't lied to me,' that was probably the time when whoever 'Sir' is really got a grip on him. I mean, that is when Frank truly started believing."

"What do you mean?" Fenton asked.

"Well, the entries before that one, he still sounds what I assume your son would normally sound like. He's still confident, for example, here," she said pointing to another section on a different page, "Entry three, entitled 'Yeah Right,' 'He's started telling me that my family doesn't treat me the same as Joe. He told me that we are different. He sounds like one of those serial kidnappers that dad tracks down.' The control that 'Sir' has over Frank now was not always there."

"The control was gradual. That entry was dated back in mid September, the seventh entry is dated a few weeks ago, and the last entry was just two days ago. So my question is, if the control is gradual, why does he never tell us his name? Even in the first entry he refers to the guy as 'Sir,'" Ezra said.

"Hmm… true, but you have to remember that this was written over a period of less then a month, but the person who he is referring to may have had longer to work on him. We may be looking at only a fraction, a small, small fraction of what could have been years of manipulation."

There was a pause as Fenton and Ezra took in and considered everything that she was saying.

"What else can you tell us?" Ezra finally said.

"I can say that no matter how bad a read this is, or how bad that it looks, the truth of the matter is that 'Sir' still doesn't have complete control over Frank. It appears that Frank still doubts him, so…"

"So Frank could be walking around trying to think things through, or he could have gone to 'Sir'," Fenton concluded.

There was a silence that seemed to settle uneasily over everyone, and then Ezra's cell rang.

* * *

Joe and Biff arrived at the school to find it deserted, which was expected on a Saturday. Biff parked his SUV close to where they had found Frank and Mr. Chessman arguing yesterday, upon Joe's request.

"I still don't know what you expect to find here," Biff said as he exited the SUV with Joe.

"Well, I just need a starting point. I mean, Frank's been off for a while, but yesterday was when it peaked. I just want to kind of…look around. I mean, Frank always tells me that if you get stuck, go back to the start," Joe said, as he walked over to the area where Frank and Chessman had been fighting.

"Detectives," Biff grumbled as he followed Joe.

Joe looked around the area, the events of yesterday playing in his mind. "We were up there. I had run into you while looking for Frank. It was pretty late, and most people had already left," Joe said, not really talking to Biff, but concentrating. "I was starting to get worried; Frank had been grumpy, for lack of a better word, all day. That morning he hadn't really said anything except a snap at mom, and then at lunch he didn't sit with anyone. According to Iola, he and Callie were fighting. We came this way, to the door closest to his locker, and that's when we found him."

"All straightforward Joe, he was having a bad day and lost control."

Joe glared at Biff and continued. "Frank and Mr. Chessman were arguing about something," Joe bent his brow and concentrated; he hadn't really heard what they were saying yesterday, but he was sure that he'd caught a few pieces of the conversation.

"_What do you mean…?" Frank hissed._

"_Frank, listen to me, you need to stop…"Mr. Chessman said, trying to look frank in the eyes._

"_I need to what? Stop doing what I'm told?" _

"_Frank…" it was then that Mr. Chessman put his hand on Frank's shoulder, and Frank slugged him._

"Stop doing what I'm told," Joe whispered.

"What was that?" Biff asked looking up from the rock he was kicking.

"Frank said something about needing to stop doing what he's told yesterday. When he and Chessman were arguing, Frank said that he needed to stop doing what he's told."

"So? That could mean anything. He could be referring to your parents, teachers, aliens the voices in his head…"

"Biff, shut up. I know you're pissed at him, but for God shakes, don't you want to know why he flipped out? And if anyone has a right to be mad at him, it's me!" Joe said, finally having enough of Biffs attitude.

"I'm sorry Joe, I just…I don't know."

Joe sighed, "It's alright."

There was a silence between the two friends for a while, and then Biff spoke up, "Where to now?"

"I want to know what Mr. Chessman and Frank were fighting about."

* * *

"Collin," Ezra barked into his phone. "When?" he said glancing up at Fenton. "Ok, we'll be there in a few minutes," Ezra hung up, and with a deep sigh he looked at Fenton. "That was Con. A patrol officer has found something…"

* * *

Didn't i say that this chap would be better?And guess what, there's another comingvery soon. Thanks for all the reviwes.


	10. Pressumed Dead

**Presumed Dead**

"What did they find?" Fenton asked.

"I'm sorry Dania, but we have to run," Ezra said to Dr. Marshal. He turned to Fenton and said, "We may have a lead on Frank."

Within thirty minutes Fenton and Ezra had arrived at the meet point with the two patrol officers. They were in the park that Fenton and Laura had searched. The two officers, Shelly Peters, and Mathew Dark, were guarding a trashcan and a homeless woman. The homeless woman was in her early twenties; small and mousy. She had short brown hair that was natty and greasy.

"What do you have Peters?" Ezra barked.

"This is Millie," Peters began, gesturing to the homeless woman, who looked slightly unnerved. "She flagged us down and told us that she found what she thought looked like a body. Well, we didn't find a body," Peters began.

"You wouldn't have come if I told you I'd just found a knife," Millie snapped.

Peters just gave her a look and continued, "What we did find was a sweat shirt, with a lot of blood and a knife wrapped in it." As Peterson spoke her partner pulled the shirt from a paper bag that he'd been holding. Fenton's face changed from curious to shocked, as he took the shirt in his shaking hands.

"Fenton?" Ezra said calmly.

"It looks like Frank's. Was there anything found with it?" Fenton asked, looking up at the officers.

The officers exchanged looks, and Dark reached into the bag and handed Fenton a wallet.

Fenton didn't need to look inside; the wallet was proof enough. It was a small, light brown fake leather billfold, with a cartoon image of Sherlock embroidered on it. Fenton handed Ezra the shirt and opened the wallet. Inside were Frank's smiling faces on his driver's license and his school ID.

"This is Frank's," Fenton said. "But you already knew that," he added looking at Ezra.

"I just needed to be sure," Ezra nodded.

Fenton then looked at Millie, who had been slowly sneaking away from the group. "Ma'am, can you tell me how you found this?"

Millie jumped at Fenton's address, and she shrunk down, "I wasn't stealing or nothing, it aint stealing if it's been thrown out."

"I know, I know, no one is going to arrest you. I just need to know how you found it," Fenton said reassuringly.

Millie looked at him, trying to size him up. Finally she said, "I trust you, you look like him."

"Him?" Fenton asked.

"Yeah, the kid. The golden boy, him." Millie said pointing to the picture on Frank's ID.

"You know Frank?" Fenton said, surprised.

"He runs through here everyday, I see him. He's nice, not like the others. He says hi, calls me ma'am. He buys me coffee sometimes. He's nice."

Fenton smiled; somehow he was not surprised to hear that Frank had made friends with some of the park's residents. "Can you tell me when you saw him last?"

"Yeah, yesterday afternoon. He looked pissed, so I didn't talk to him or nothing."

"Ok, so how'd you find the shirt?" Ezra asked, starting to lose his patience.

"People throw away good stuff. Last night I had a nice coat, warm an' fluffy," Millie said with a slightly dreamy look on her face, "but I gave it up to Wally 'cause he don't have nothing but a t-shirt. Anyways, it's cold and I'm sitting here freezing my you-know-what off, but I remembers that I saw some guy throw out a nice looking hoodie yesterday. So I think that since he didn't want it, I'd take it. Only, I don't want nothing that's tainted," Millie said.

"This guy, do you remember what he looked like? If he was alone, did he have anything with him?"

"He had his coat on, and a hat. I never saw his face, but he was tall. Strong too, 'cause he had this big old bag. It looked pretty heavy. He looked like one of us," Millie said scrunching up her face, trying to remember.

"Us?" Fenton asked.

"Yeah, homeless people," Millie said as if Fenton had just asked if the sky was blue.

"Could you tell if the man was old or young?" Fenton asked.

"I just told you I couldn't see nothing! It was dark and he was wrapped up it coats and stuff."

"Thank you," Fenton said, now turning to the officers.

"Do yous need me any more?" Millie asked hopefully.

Fenton turned back to her, gave her an understanding nod and said, "No, but we will need to know where you normally are, in case we need to talk again."

"Well, it anit no secret, now is it?"

"Thank you very much for your help, Miss."

Millie snorted and turned to leave, but hesitated a second, then turned back, "That's a lot of blood aint it?"

Fenton looked down at the hoodie he held. Each sleeve was saturated in blood up to the elbow. It was definitely the mark of a severe blood loss; one that he doubted someone could have survived. "It is," he choked out, still staring at the sleeves.

"Think that…?" Millie didn't ask the question; Fenton wasn't paying her any attention and she didn't blame him. He looked like 'Golden Boy,' and she knew what he was thinking. She left the group of law enforcement silently.

"Was this everything that was found?" Fenton said, snapping out of his thoughts.

"Um, no there was this too…" Dark said as he carefully pulled a medium sized knife from the bag, using a bandanna to keep his fingerprints off it. Fenton felt bile rise in his throat when he saw it. The slim silvery blade was stained with a red substance, what Fenton assumed was blood. 'Frank's blood…'

Ezra, sensing Fenton's thoughts, put his hand on Fenton's shoulder and said, "We don't know anything for sure yet. We have to check the blood…."

Fenton just nodded, with his hopes of finding Frank alive dashed.

* * *

Fenton sat in empty hallway, one he knew well. It was the hallway outside the autopsy room and criminal lab. He had been sitting there for a half hour, ever since Ezra had taken the evidence to have it tested.

"_It might not be Frank's blood; we just have to be sure."_

At least, that's what Ezra had said, but Fenton could tell that he didn't believe the words. One look in Ezra's eyes had told him that it was just wishful thinking. The sleeves were drenched, saturated with ugly rust colored stains; there was no doubt. They had taken Fenton's blood, so they could identify if the blood was Frank's or not. Taking the objects to the lab wasn't to test the blood on the sweater though; it was to start an investigation. To see if the cuts that caused the bloodstains were self inflected or not. It was only a matter of time…

"Fenton Hardy?" said a soft voice, one that Fenton knew.

"Hello Dr. Marshal," he said wearily.

"Ezra called me; he said that your runaway has become a missing person, maybe a…"

"Murder," Fenton said, looking up at her. She offered him a sad smile and took the empty seat next to him.

"I'm sorry. The death of a child is a nightmare that I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy."

"They haven't told me if he's dead or not. There was no body…"

"But they're still searching the park where you found his sweatshirt and wallet, and the knife. The sweatshirt was also drenched in blood.

"They're still trying to figure out if it was Frank's. And there is no body," Fenton growled. He was getting rather annoyed; he refused to believe Frank was dead, until he saw his son's body with his own eyes.

"Of course, and you shouldn't believe your son's dead, not until there is a body."

Fenton looked at Marshal with a look of shock on his face. Most doctors he'd known wouldn't hesitate to start telling him to accept it, to start the, 'It's a traumatic loss, but your son is dead and you need to start the healing process," crap. But Dr. Marshal seemed keen on the idea that Frank was alive until found dead.

Dr. Marshal smiled at Fenton's expression, understanding it well. "My husband was caught in hurricane Andy. He was in the Coast Guard. He went over board while trying to help a boat to shore. They told me he was dead, but there was no body. A week after the hurricane was over, during the clean up, the Coast Guard was cleaning up the bay, and there he was. They found him on a half sunken sailboat. He'd made it through the three-day storm, with a broken arm, leg, and several ribs. I will never tell anyone to accept a love one's death until the body is right there in front of them."

There was a silence for a while, as Fenton thought about what the coroner would say.

"Have you called your wife yet?" Marshal asked.

"Not yet, I've been waiting…" Fenton looked up at Ezra. The coroner came out of the lab, looking grim. Fenton and Marshal stood, and waited for one of them to speak. After a moment, Ezra did.

"I'm sorry Fenton…."

* * *

Joe and Biff sat in the mall's food court. Biff had agreed to help Joe track down Mr. Chessman, but Joe had to buy lunch. So they sat, Joe grudgingly waiting for Biff to finish his third slice of pizza. "Come on Biff, hurry up."

"What's the rush, it's Saturday? Chessman aint going anywhere."

"I know, I…I just want to…."

Biff rolled his eyes, "You just want to solve another mystery?"

"Hey, come on, it's not like I've done anything really big. I mean, yeah we helped dad on his last three cases, and Frank and I have solved one on my own. But it's not like this is going to be a big thing, I mean we're still 'kids,' as Chief Collin likes to point out."

Biff just smirked and took another bite of pizza. After five more minutes, Biff was finally done, and the two friends walked out of the food court. Just as they exited the mall, Joe's cell went off.

"Hello?" Joe said as he and Biff reached the SUV.

"Oh hey Mom, Biff and I were…" Biff looked up at his friend when he stopped talking. At first Joe's face was calm, but slowly, it started to turn into a mask of sorrow and grief.

"Joe?" Biff asked, after Joe had ended his call. At first it didn't seem that Joe had heard Biff, and just as he was about to talk again, Joe spoke.

"That was my Mom," he said, his voice cracking and tears falling from his eye. "Fra…. Frank…I need to get home…I need to…Frank is…."

Biff was starting to get worried; Joe was losing it and Biff could barely understand what he was saying. He moved quickly over to Joe and grabbed a hold of him by the shoulders, and shook him. "Come on Joe, snap out of it. Reality is calling."

Joe's grief filled, teary eyes met Biff's frightened ones, and when he spoke it was in a hushed, strained voice. "Frank's dead…."


	11. Only Son

Joe could barely stand; he was in shock. Biff took a hold of him before he could fall, and guided him into the SUV. "Joe, Joe I need you to look at me. Joe?"

Joe turned his teary face up, to look at his best friend. "He's dead Biff, my dad found…."

"Ok, ok, we'll get you home. Alright, we're going straight to your house," Biff said feeling panic starting to flood his system. It was only this morning that he had been ready to pound Frank's face into the ground and then go for round two. But now, 'God I'm such a jerk….'

Biff made it back to the Hardy residence in record time. Joe, who had said nothing the whole trip, barely waited for the car to stop before he got out and headed for his house. Joe was greeted by the sounds of his crying mother. His Aunt Gertrude was doing her best to try and calm her.

"Oh, Laura, at least you know that he's finally safe. At least you know that…."

"Mom!" Joe called as he entered the kitchen where the voices were coming from.

"Joseph!" Laura called, as she quickly rushed over to him and pulled him in her arms.

"Mom, what happened?" Joe asked, letting his mother rock him slightly.

"Your father called, he just said that the police think Frank has died, and that he would fill us all in when he got here."

"He asked me to come and sit with your mother," Gertrude said.

Joe nodded, and guided his mother into a seat at the kitchen table. He sat silently, with her, only nodding when Biff entered the Kitchen. His Aunt was busy making tea and some sandwiches, and Biff, just to do something, was helping her.

Fenton and Ezra arrived at the Hardy house in grim silence. For the second time Laura stood, but she didn't go rushing over to her husband. Joe stood as well, and Gertrude and Biff stopped their fussing. There was a tense silence, as Joe watched his parents, who seemed to be talking to each other with their eyes. Finally Laura sat down, saying nothing, with her face in her hands. Gertrude instantly went to her side.

"Fenton, what happened?" she asked her brother as she started to stroke Laura's hair.

With a heavy sigh, Fenton told every one of the day's events. How they found the sweatshirt in the park, what Millie had told them, how the DNA matched, and how the amount of blood on the sweatshirt most likely meant death.

No one said anything, no one could.

* * *

Joe sat on the porch, wordlessly. Ezra and Biff had long since left the Hardy's, allowing them to grieve in private. Aunt Gertrude was sitting with his mother, and his father was in his office. It was evening now, meaning Joe hadn't moved from his spot for almost five hours. He just kept replaying everything in his head; Frank losing it, coming home and finding out that Frank was gone, trying to find Frank, the call….

It was all too much. He wasn't processing it, he couldn't. He didn't want to.

He heard the back door open and close, and someone approach. "Joe?" he heard his dad say. Joe didn't answer.

"Joseph," his dad said again, but Joe still remained quiet.

"Joseph Hardy, please answer me."

"What do you want!" Joe snapped.

"I want to know if you've eaten."

"I'm not hungry."

"Joe, I think…."

"You think! You think!" Joe said, now jumping up to face his father. "You think yelling at Frank would solve anything! You think that driving him away would help!" Joe was shaking now, anger and grief radiating from him.

Fenton was silent, and he couldn't look Joe in the eyes. He too, was blaming himself. 'If I had just given him a chance to explain, if I had just kept my mouth shut….'

Fenton finally looked at his son, "Joe, I know that you're angry," Fenton ignored the harsh laugh from Joe, "And you have every right to be. But hear me out. When I heard that you had been hurt, that was bad enough. But to hear that Frank was the cause, I can't even begin to describe what I was feeling. I love you boys more then anything, and I can't stand the thought of you hurt. I was afraid, I was scared that there was something wrong and I turned it into anger. I'm sorry Joe."

Joe stood there for a moment, his face a mask of anger. But that quickly changed, and he started to shake. Fenton closed the gab between them in three quick steps and wrapped his arms around him, just as Joe began to cry.

'My only son….'


	12. Moveing On

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay, i hope this is worth waiting for. It's long, kind of. Oh, and my editor (Whom i love) is away sadly, and could not edit. Oh well.

**

* * *

**

**Moving On**

It had now been two weeks, one day and ten hours since Frank had been ruled 'Missing Presumed Dead.' Gertrude had moved in to help Laura take care of the things. There had been no arrangements made, both parents refusing to do anything of the kind until they had solid proof that Frank was dead. Joe had spent a week at home, not feeling well enough to face the world. He had mostly ignored calls from friends and well-wishers, just because he couldn't face it. Now, at the close of his first week back he wished that he were gone too.

Everyone was looking at him funny, and he knew that they all knew. Some of the people with enough respect just gave Joe sympathetic nods, smiles, and words. However, there were the ones who would come up and start grilling him about what happened, and demanding to know what was up. Some just made rumors that ranged from suicide to murder, to alien abduction. It was driving Joe crazy.

On top of that, there was just the fact that he had to go to school alone. Come home a lone, and just basically be a lone. After having Frank always with him for most of his life, all of his life, it just didn't feel right. He just felt so strange.

Iola had helped, and so had Biff and Chet. They were always there. Tony did what he could between jobs to talk to Joe and see how he was. Phil and Callie however, were slightly distant. Joe could tell that they were hurting. Phil was Frank's best friend next to Joe. They had been close since the Hardy's moved to Bayport. Laura always called them kindred, and pointing out that the two would always sit and debate since and history and whatever else the found important. Callie, well Callie just felt guilty. She had fought with Frank before, what everyone was now calling the snap, and she felt like it was her fault.

It was now Saturday, and Joe was seated in the living room, staring at the ceiling.

"Joe Hardy, I swear, don't you have some place to be?" Gertrude said coming into the living room.

"Nope," was his only reply.

"No ma'am, and you can't just sit here and mope. You've done that for the last two weeks, and I've had just about enough of it."

Joe just glared at her.

"Oh, don't give me that look. You're the one who's giving up. You don't see your father or mother moping around and none of your friends! You are the only one who is doing nothing to find your brother."

"He's dead Aunt Gertrude, what is there to find?"

Gertrude softened her glare, and sat down next to Joe on the couch. "Have you seen his body Joseph?"

"What?"

"Have you seen his body? Has someone showed you proof, be on a doubt proof that your brother is dead?"

"No, just what dad saw."

"Then how can you say he's dead? You're a detective just as much as your father, shouldn't you be doing something other then just sitting here?"

Joe was silent for a few minuets, thinking over what his aunt had said. Then, for the first time in days, a small smile spread across his face. "Aunt Gertrude, would it be alright if I went to a friend's house?"

* * *

Biff was excited to get Joe's call. And even though he didn't like the reasons for the call, it was just good to see Joe actually doing something.

"So, you want to go and talk to Mr. Chessman, but didn't the police and your father already take care of that?" Biff asked.

"Yeah, but it won't hurt to try again. I mean talking to the police is one thing, talking to two teens is another. He might respond better to us," Joe said as Biff pulled into Mr. Chessman's residents.

Not only was Mr. Chessman a teacher, but also he was always a tutor, which meant he had posted his address on the school's extra help info. board. With Joe's grades, they had no problem finding him.

Joe hopped out of the SUV and walked up to the apartment. Joe took a deep breath and knocked, and was surprised by how quickly Chessman answered. Mr. Chessman was a young man, in his early thirties. With dark, almost black, hair, brown eyes, and a thin, wiry build. He always had on a pair of glasses, and a polo kaki outfit.

"Joseph, Allen, hello boys. I didn't expect to see you two here," he said with a crisp British accent.

"Sorry to bother you Mr. Chessman, but could we talk to you?" Joe asked.

"Yes, of course. Come on in," Mr. Chessman stood aside to allow them to enter.

"Mr. Chessman, I hope you won't get mad because I know that people have been bothering you a lot lately, but I was wondering is I could ask you some questions…" Joe began.

"You want to know what I remember about the fight Frank and I had?"

"Yes sir."

"Well, I can tell you. I had just seen Frank fighting with Miss. Shaw. I was surprised at how easily angered he was, he didn't seem himself. I was just worried about him. So I confronted him, asked him if everything was all right. That's all that we fought about."

"Hmm…" Joe said thinking things over. "Mr. Chessman, have you ever noticed anyone out of the ordinary talking to Frank, or hanging around the school?"

Mr. Chessman thought for a moment, then shock his head, "No Joseph, I can't recall anyone. Not anyone that shouldn't have been there. What are you thinking?"

"I don't know sir, I just…I don't know…" Joe said looking lost.

"You know Joseph, that if you ever need to talk, I as well as any other teacher at the school are never to hurried. The same goes for you Allen and the rest of your friends," Mr. Chessman said, looking up at Biff.

"Thank you sir," Biff said quickly.

"Yes, thank you. And thank you for your time. I guess that's all I had to ask," Joe said.

"Alright, I hope I was able to help in some way."

'Maybe you did,' Joe thought as he and Biff exited.


	13. Giving Up

**Giving Up?**

"What's the matter Joe?" Biff asked as he and Joe pulled out of Mr. Chessman's parking lot.

"Huh? Oh nothing, I'm just wondering," Joe said drifting back into his mind.

"About what?" Biff asked, a little annoyed. He never liked it when the Hardy's did that, that whole thinking thing. They always got to quite and still and you never knew if they were a live or dead. It was unnerving.

"Mr. Chessman and his answers," Joe answered, still in a kind of dazed world.

"What about them?" Biff prompted, yet again.

"Well, they seemed rehearsed. Like he knew what we were going to ask, which he did, and he told us basically what he thought we wanted to hear."

"Joe, you said it yourself, the police have questioned him, your father, he probably has even been questioned by the school. He knows the drill by now."

"Yeah, but he gave no details. No extra information or anything else that would indicate that, that was really what he was talking to Frank about. I mean it just didn't seem right. And did you notice that he hesitated. When I asked him if he saw anyone that shouldn't be there, did you notice that?"

"No, can't say that I did," Biff replied, and it was plain to Joe that he thought Joe was hanging on to false hope.

"Biff, why don't you believe me?" Joe asked him, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice.

This was another thing Biff hated as well that the Hardy's did, read people. "It's not that I don't believe you Joe, it's just I think that maybe…" Biff started after thinking a moment.

"Maybe I can't except the fact that Frank lost it then killed himself? Well if that's the case how'd his sweater get in the trashcan? There was too much blood on it; the lab guys said he was wearing it when he died! Or maybe I can't except the fact that my brother is gone, that somebody turned him against us and he's de…." Joe stopped in mid-word; he couldn't believe what he was saying. Biff saw the horrified look in Joe's eyes and it didn't take an export to know what he was thinking.

"Hey Joe, it's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong, hell out of all of us you're the one doing most of the stuff right. I mean, well I guess you've noticed, that we all think, well you know…but Joe you haven't, you haven't given up on Frank. You'll find him Joe, alive or dead, you'll find him," Biff stuttered, trying to help his friend.

The two fell into an uneasy silence for a while. Neither one wanted to say anything for fear of another out burst.

Joe sat in the passenger seat fighting a losing battle with his emotions, trying not to break down. 'Did I really just say Frank is dead? Is that what I think? He can't be dead, he can't be. If he committed suicide how did he get so much blood on his shirt, throw it out then walk out of the park? Where's his body Joe? Huh? Has anyone found it yet? You're not giving up on him, are you?'

Biff for his part sat stalk still, concentrating on the road. 'Maybe Joe's right. I mean, no one knows Frank better then him, so maybe Joe's right. Let's say Frank was being controlled and used against his family, who or why would anyone want to do that? Oh great, listen to yourself Biff, now he's got you thinking like a detective. We need a break.'

"Hey Joe, I got an idea," Biff said softly.

"Yeah?" Joe said after a few minuets more of pouting.

"Want to go see the Martins? I bet you Mrs. Martin has a new batch of cookies and I'm sure Iola would be happy to see you."

Joe gave a small smile at Biff's attempt to smooth things over and knew that the distraction would be good. "Sure Biff sounds good."

A few minuets latter Biff and Joe were knocking on the Martin's door.

"Iola, would you get that!" rang out the voice of Mrs. Martin from some where inside the house.

"Yes Mama!" came the chirpy reply, and a few seconds latter Iola Martin was standing where the door once was.

Joe felt his breath slip away when he saw her. She was in jeans and a blue fitted sweater with her red hair pulled back into a ponytail and no make up on. But she always looked perfect to Joe, and always took his breath away.

"Joe!" she squealed excitedly, almost knocking him over with a hug.

"Hi Iola," Joe said, glaring at the laughing Biff.

"Oh it's so good to see you! I was hoping you'd stop by. Come in, come in," Iola chirped as she led Joe inside. "Oh, and Biff, if you don't shut up I'll keep you out."

"Right," laughter, "I'm trying," laughter, "OW!" Joe smirked with victory as Biff started to rub his foot and hop on one leg. "Joe Hardy, if you do that again so help me I'm going to…Hello Mrs. Martin how are you?"

Mrs. Martin had just entered the greeting hall where the three were gathered carrying a basket of fresh baked cookies. She gave Biff a warm smile and said, "Quite well dear, what happened to your foot?" She turned her attention to a now giggling Iola who was hugging a still smirking Joe. "Oh I see," Mrs. Martin said, and her smile soften as her gaze fell on Joe. "Hello Joe, how are you doing?"

Joe's smirk faded under the concerned eyes of Mrs. Martin, and he glanced down at his feet before responding. "I'm better. Not the best but better."

"Well, don't worry, you're family and you are very strong. I'm sure that you'll do very well very soon," Mrs. Martin said soothingly. Joe looked up in her eyes, and for the first time since this whole thing started he thought he saw a spark of belief. That one person maybe still believed that Frank could be saved. "Now, why don't you three go and join Callie and Chet in the basement, I bet they wondering where you got to," Mrs. Martin said to her daughter as she handed Iola the basket of cookies.

"Oh no, they're not worried about me. Or at least Chet isn't. He knew that these were coming the moment you started making the batter. Stomach radar don't you know?" Iola said as she gave her chuckling mother a wink and led the others to the basement.

"Callie's here?" Joe asked surprised as they reached the steps.

Iola gave a quick glance down, the lowered her voice, "Yeah. She came home with me last night Joe. She's real upset and needed to talk. She blames herself, and it's really bothering her."

Joe nodded and followed Iola downstairs. Chet and Callie were seated on a couch talking; the three had been in the middle of a game because there were cards everywhere. However at the moment Callie and Chet were talking, they stopped as soon as they saw the others enter. More specifically when Joe entered. There was a minuet of silence before Joe spoke up.

"Hey, how is everyone?" He said, talking to Callie more then the others.

"Hungry, are those the cookies mom was making?" Chet asked eagerly.

"Down boy, ladies first," Iola teased while she presented the basket to Callie who took a cookie.

"Thanks. How are you Joe?" Callie said, a little subdued.

"I'm alright. Been keeping busy," Joe said taking a seat on the floor.

"All say this guy's got me running all over town!" Biff complained, stealing the cookies from Chet.

"Really?" Iola asked, watching her brother and Biff, who were now wrestling for the cookies.

"Yeah, he's got this idea that maybe he can figure out…damn it Chet just give it up…."

"Never you cookie-naper!" Chet cried as he fell off the couch and onto Biff. Iola quickly leapt into action and grabbed not only the cookies from the two boys, but also Chet's seat.

"Hey!" both boys squealed.

Iola just stuck out her tongue and very smugly said, "I win."

Callie and Joe both sat there watching with amusement at the three's antics. When they had settled down, (i.e. when Iola had given each boy two cookies) Callie looked at Joe and asked, "Joe, what have you been up to?"

Joe looked into the spunky blonde's red eyes, and wondered for a moment if he should tell them what he was up to. 'There your friends Joe, they should know what you think. But they already think that Frank's dead, I mean Biff thinks that he committed Suicide. Would they listen? Have they given up?'

"I, uh, I have a theory. I mean, an idea or something like that. I've just been…."

"Investigating?" Callie offered.

"Yeah. I…I don't think Frank's dead, or at least I don't think he committed suicide," Joe blurted out. Everyone was stunned into silence. Joe knew without looking around that Callie and Iola were starting to cry.

The silence stretched on for what seemed like hours but was truly was only minuets. Finally it was Callie who broke the silence. "Joe, what do you mean? Do you have proof Frank's alive?"

Joe took a deep breath, and thought carefully about his answer. "I don't have any proof that could hold up in court. But there's the fact that Frank's body is nowhere to be found. And I know that the leading theory is suicide, but think about it for a minuet. Frank's hoodie was found in the trash, with no sign of blood or anything around it. And the lab guy says that his hoodie took in a lot of blood. He says that it's most likely where he bleed out," Joe said with a sick feeling in his stomach. "But if that's true, then where is he? I mean, they searched the park but didn't find him. So if he bleed out wearing his hoodie how could he throw out the hoodie then walk out of the park?"

There was another silence, but this time it wasn't tense or sad, it was the sound of thinking.

"How can we help Joe?" Iola asked.

Joe felt the relief flood through him, looking around he knew that even if they didn't think Frank was alive, his friends believed that someone had hurt him. And no matter how mad they are or were at him, no one was allowed to hurt their friend. "Callie, I need to talk to you about your conversation with Frank. I know that the police and my father have questioned you all, and I'm sorry about that. They just are trying, you know?" They nodded their understanding, and Joe continued. "I need you all to tell me what you guys remember from that day, starting with you Callie. I mean, I want to start from the beginning. So can you tell me what you guys were fighting about?"

Callie was tearing slightly, but she was keeping her composer. "We didn't fight, I mean it wasn't a fight. He was worked up and had been all week. I could tell he was worried about something but I wasn't sure what. I knew that he had several test coming up and I thought that he was studying to hard. I met him at his locker after last bell. He was late coming out, the halls were pretty clear, and he looked scared. I asked him what was wrong, and he told me nothing. But I didn't buy it, I kept pushing. He told me to back off, that he couldn't talk about. He said that he didn't want to hurt anyone, and that he had to break off before he did."

"What did he mean by that?" Joe asked, he had never heard about this before and it brought a little bit of support to his theory.

"I don't know, not for sure, but I can take a guess," Callie said, glancing up at Joe's face where a few burses were still hanging in there. "He was scared Joe, he was afraid that he was going to hurt someone. I tried to get him to talk to someone, to tell your father, but he said that would make things worse. He said that if he got them to help then they would get hurt and it would be his fault. He said he just wanted it to be over, that he couldn't live with it any more," by now Callie's voice was higher, and she was getting ready to lose it.

"Alright, alright, thank you Callie. Now, Iola, Chet, I've already talked to Biff about what he remembered about the fight, now I need to know what you remember. More specifically, did you see anyone who shouldn't have been there?"

"No, I was paying to much attention to what you and Frank were doing. I'm sorry, I only saw you guys," Chet said right away.

"I think I may have seen someone…."


	14. Stranger Danger? What A Beautiful Pic

**Stranger. Danger? What A Beautiful Picture.**

"What!" everyone called at once, all turning to Iola.

Iola kind of sunk down, "Well, it wasn't really a big deal…I mean I'd seen the guy before. He usually jogs by the school around that time, and sometimes he talks to some of the teachers or guys hanging around. He's actually a very nice guy…."

"You talked to him?" Chet asked, almost scolding.

"Oh Chet, I was standing around with Missy while she was waiting for her mom, and Frank was there as well. It was the first week of school, Joe and Biff had practice and you had to stay after, Frank said he'd give me a rid home." Chet gave his sister a disapproving look but let her continue. "Well, anyway, he just wanted some directions to the library or something, and Frank gave them to him. Then they started talking about books or something. I couldn't really keep up, cause Missy was talking about her dog's new litter. Well, anyway, Frank really impressed the guy and they talked for a while, until Missy mom came and Frank said he had to take me home."

There was silence as Joe considered what Iola said. "Iola, do you remember what he looked like, or a name or anything?"

Iola squinted, visibly thinking, "No name…but I think I can recall his face…He was tall, well built, in good shape with black hair and green eyes. There was no scares, or any tattoos that I saw, and all I that's all I can remember. I mean I don't see him everyday."

"You said he runs by the school everyday, mostly, when was the last time you saw him?" Joe asked her, hope fluttering in his stomach.

"Two days ago. Yeah, he didn't run yesterday probably because of the rain," Iola said, sure of herself, "Does that help Joe?"

"Mmm…kind of. But not really. I mean, he could be a suspect, but why would he stay? I mean if I just kidnapped someone why I would want as far away from the place as I could get," Joe said.

"Yeah, but Joe, you suspect Mr. Chessman, he's still here," Biff said.

"True, but Mr. Chessman has ties to the school, he has ties to Frank. If he just goes off well then he's suspect number one."

* * *

Joe arrived home late that evening. It had been a very enlightening day for him, and strangely uplifting. He now had hope, solid, pure hope for his brother, and for finding out what happen. The excitement that he normally felt when Frank and he would help his father on cases or even solve one of their own, however small, was back. Joe rushed through the house, searching for his father.

It was about eight at night, his parents had already eaten, and his aunt was already in her room. Joe heard voices coming from his father's office. His father sounded on the brink of losing it, while the other voice was trying to sooth him. As Joe got closer to the office he could make out the conversation.

"I don't believe this…" his father yelled.

"I know that it's hard to except but…" came the other voice.

"The hell it is! You bring this to me and expect me to believe just like that?"

Joe knocked on the door, and the voices inside the room stopped. After a moment he heard his father sigh and say, "Come in."

"Dad?" Joe asked as he slowly opened the door. His father was sitting behind his desk, Collig was standing in front of him, and seated in front of his father, some what behind the chief was a woman Joe didn't recognize.

"Dad?"

"Yes Joe?" his father said sounding all to tired, "How are the Mortons?"

"Enlightening," Joe said excitedly as he came into the office and shut the door. "Iola remembered something from that day, a guy jogging by the school who stopped to watch the fight. She can even give us a general description! He had stopped to talk to Frank a few months ago and she said….Dad, what's happened?"

Fenton Hardy looked up from his desk, he had been listening to Joe, but he couldn't help but stare at the cursed thing in front of him. "Joe…" he started weakly.

Nervously, Joe closed the gap between him and the desk, and noticed for the first time the pictures that held his father's attention. Fenton tried to block his view, but Joe saw it.

Frank was lying there, in the middle of some strange room, he was dressed, except for bare feet. His eyes were closed, his body lifeless. He was laying half on his side, half on his back, his arm twisted at a painful angle. The picture gave a clear shot of his blood stained wrists. It also showed ugly burses on his face and neck.

The next picture of Frank showed him in the same room, this time stripped from the waist up. Almost the exact same angle, showing the exact same wounds with more burses and cuts on his torso.

The third picture showed Frank stripped down to his boxers, and just like before the same set up only showing more trauma to his legs. While the three pictures weren't exactly pornographic, they had that feel to it, and it was so strong that Joe could feel bile at the back of his throat.

He took a step back, away from the pictures and his father who was quickly shoving them to the side. "Wh…when?" He asked after a long moment.

"Earlier today, it was sent to Ezra," Fenton answered, standing up. He was alarmed at how pale Joe had become, though he understood, and was afraid that Joe was about to faint.

"I think," said Dr. Marshal, "That maybe I should take you son to get some air while you two finish talking."

Fenton nodded, not removing his eyes from Joe. "Joe, this is Samantha Marshal, she'd a psychologist that works with the police. Dr. Marshal, this is my youngest son Joe."

"Please to met you Joe, though I wish it was under better circumstances. Shall we go for a walk?" Marshal asked as she gently guided the still shocked Joe out into the hall and down the stairs to the kitchen.

She led Joe out to the back yard, to let the cool October air snap him out of his daze. It took a few minuets but then she saw what she was hoping for, his body started to shake. Not from the cold, but from sobs that caught in his throat. "It's alright Joe, you can let it out," she said soothingly.

"My brother's de…Frank's dead…" Joe sobbed.

* * *

Sorry it took so long, but there was otakon, then school, and well now i just stopped being lazy. 


	15. Try Alittle Help From Your Friends

**Try a Little Help From Your Friends.**

It had been three weeks since the pictures. Three weeks since the awful realization that Frank was gone and Joe would have to continue on with out him. This time there was no hope. If he had thought the rumors and the staring were bad before, his was wrong. He had no idea how, it was never published, but news of the semi-pornographic pictures had been spread around, and everyone was making it seem like Frank was some kind of porn stare.

Joe couldn't take it; it seemed like everyday he was fighting someone. More then twice Biff, Chet, Phil or all three had to pull him off or hold him back from someone. The principal was trying to be compassionate, understanding, but it was hard when Joe was in his office everyday.

It wasn't just fights at school, home was no picnic either. When Joe did speak to his father, it would be one word sentences and with more then a little attitude. He mostly stayed in his room at home, ate little and avoided as much of his family as possible.

Fenton was pretty much the same. He stayed locked up in his office or run off at the drop of a hat. He couldn't bring himself to admit Frank was dead, that he had failed him. This was a major fight between Laura and Fenton; Laura wanted to lay Frank to rest. To try and bring some peace to the family. But Fenton wouldn't give in. He wouldn't hear talk of a memorial service. "No body, no funeral," was Fenton's only reply when the subject was brought up.

Joe didn't know what to think. Every sign, every fact told him that Frank was dead. He believed that he was never going to see him again. Part of him wanted to burry Frank as best they could, like his mom wanted, and try to put his life back together. Though there was still the part of him that wanted to believe Frank was alive. There was still part of him, the same part that told him when someone was guilty or not, his instinct, it told him that Frank was alive. That to burry him would be saying he's dead, it would be turning his back on him.

Gertrude had decided to stay and help the family. She, for the most part, kept her mouth shut and let Fenton and Laura work things out. The only time she ever made any sign off fuss was when Joe wouldn't eat, or when he'd lock himself up in his room.

It was plan to everyone who knew them that the Hardy's were falling apart.

* * *

"I hate seeing him like this," Iola said one day as she, Callie, Paul, Tony, Chet, and Biff all sat around one Friday in the Morton's basement.

"I know what you mean. It's hard enough that the last thing he saw of Frank was his fist coming at him, but then Frank disappears. And now there's though damn pictures," Biff joined in. He had spent the week watching his best friend tare himself apart and it was getting worse each second.

"Joe wants closer, he needs it. It's hard when your father won't give up," Phil added.

There were murmurs of agreement among the group.

"But what if Frank's not dead?" Callie asked, in a soft voice that was nearly cracking. The last few weeks hadn't been any easier on her then the others. Frank was her best friend, her confidant, and her first love, not having him great her every morning or hold her hand was killing her.

"Callie, Joe told us about the pictures. He told us what he saw," Phil said after a moment, trying to clam the blond.

"Yeah, but they could have been faked…" Callie protested.

"Joe says that the police found no sign of tampering," Biff added. Callie pouted for a few minuets and the others fell into silence. Callie knew that they were right; she had made Joe tell her twice what he saw in the pictures. The others were right, there was no way for the picture to be faked, unless….

"The photo didn't have to be tampered with for it to be fake," Callie spat out.

The others looked at her and rolled their eyes.

"No, listen to me…" Callie pleaded.

"Callie, I know you want Frank to be alive. We all want Frank to be alive. But Callie, he's gone…" Tony said softly.

"Would you listen to me, just for once. I know you all think I'm an emotional time bomb, but if you give me a minuet to explain, maybe I can give Joe some hope again. Cause if there is one thing we can all agree on is that Joe has none, and it's destroying him," Callie snapped. The others all fell into silence, not willing to draw the wreath of the blond upon them.

"Alright, you all know my dad does special affect make up and stuff, right?" there were nods and murmurs all around, "There are ways to make someone appear dead using make up that wouldn't show up as tampered with on any test in a picture," Callie said, a smug look forming on her face as the others fell salient.

Chet was the first to speak after a minuet or two of the silence, "But the blood was real Callie."

"What?" Callie asked, giving Chet a 'What are you talking about,' look.

"The blood, it's real. That's what the lab said, and it all matched Frank's. There was no way that could be faked…."

There was another silence, this time uneasy, as everyone thought about what Chet had said, and it was true. Callie sighed and slumped down in defeat. Iola gave her a small hug and tired to consul her the best she could. Time ticked by, no one said anything, no one did anything, they were all to busy thinking about the good old times.

"I got an idea," Phil said finally, after a half hour. Five pairs of eyes burrowed into him as he continued to break the bittersweet reminiscence. "If there's one thing we all agree on, it's that Joe needs help. I don't know if anyone else has noticed, but he's been walking around half the time in a daze and the other half a time bomb."

"Yeah, well it can't be easy. I mean he knows Frank's dead, but his dad won't stop looking…" Biff added.

"He told me that it wouldn't hurt so bad if he had closer. If there was something that he could do just to kind of…you know…just kind of end it," Iola added.

"I think we all could use that. I think it's way past time for this to end," Tony said, looking at Callie, who had tears falling from her eyes.

"Yeah, but what can we do? Mr. Hardy won't allow any kind of service, Mrs. Hardy won't fight him on it anymore, and Joe isn't really ready to try," Chet added.

"Yeah, but we are," Phil stated.

"What! Are you kidding? Have you lost it Phil? What are we going to do, go up and ask Fenton Hardy if we can have a memorial service for Frank, oh man, I can see how that's goanna go. Um, excuse me, Mr. Hardy sir. We know that Frank isn't really dead, but um, well, we kind of want to move on with our lives, so um, is it alright if we burry him anyway?" Biff went off.

A pillow to the head silenced Biff, who would have thrown it back at Phil if Tony hadn't tackled him. "As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, we could have a kind of memorial for Frank. He's parents wouldn't have to know, it's not for them. This is all for Joe. If his parents wont come to terms with this then that's there problem, but Joe is. I think that's what so hard on him. I think that's why he feels the way he does," Phil said.

"He feels like he's betraying everyone. Here is, suppose to be Frank's best friend, his brother, and he thinks he's dead. His father doesn't think that, the great Fenton Hardy still believes that his son can be found, what right does Joe have to think otherwise," Iola added.

There was another silence to follow as each person thought over what was said. They all agreed that Joe needed closer, that they all needed to do something. They all agreed that it had to be hard for Joe, he had to feel like he was giving up after spending the first two weeks swearing his bother was a live. They all wanted to do something for him, for themselves, for Frank.

"What did you have in mind Phil?" Chet asked.

* * *

It was Saturday night, and the six friends had been rushing around all day trying to get things ready in the Morton's basement. After their planning session on Friday, the six had decided to through a kind of wake. Mrs. Morton offered to do all the cooking, and Callie and Iola told her they'd help. Tony said he'd get drinks and whatever else they needed, leaving Phil, Chet, and Biff to do the decorating.

After all the run around that day, it was now up to Biff and Iola to get Joe to come. They pulled up to the Hardy house at half past six and knocked on the door. The straight-laced Gertrud answered.

"Hello Ms. Hardy, is Joe in?" Iola asked politely. Once, and only once she had angered the elder Hardy and would never do that again.

"Yes, come on in. He's right up in his room. He hasn't come out since Friday morning, heaven knows I've tried everything. Maybe you two could…" The elder woman's voice drifted off, as she stared up stairs. Her brother, her sister in law, and her nephew were all falling a part and she had no idea what to do.

Both Iola and Biff felt the chill in the Hardy house. The empty, kind of shattered happiness chill that filled the air, the kind of chill no heater or fire could remove. So different then what they normally felt in this house. It scared them.

"We'll see what we can do Mrs. Hardy," Biff promised the elder woman, as he and Iola walked up the stairs.

Biff had been to this house hundreds, thousands, of times. He had millions of memories here. He was there the night Joe turned eight. Here the day Frank broke his arm falling out of the tree. Here when the Hardy's had their cookouts and dinner parties. He was hear the day they found Frank's hoodie, he was hear the day after Joe saw the pictures. The best friend, the silent support, the one who would just stand in the back yard and throw the football and not push. There were many memories in this house, but Biff knew the one he'd never forget was Mrs. Hardy red and puffy eyed as she let him in. Ms. Hardy silent and somber faced in the kitchen. Mr. Hardy pale and still. And Joe, hopeless, lost, eyes completely without the 'Joe Hardy' sparkle. If nothing else of this whole mess gave him nightmares, it would be that.

The two reached Joe's door, and stared at it for a minuet before finally turning to each other and gathering courage. Iola took a deep breath and knocked on it, lightly at first, then harder after there was no reply.

"Joe, are you in there? It's me, Iola, and Biff. We just want to talk Joe," Iola said softly.

There was still no answer, no movement from inside.

It was Biff's turn. "Hey look man, it's just us. We just want to talk, that's all. We're worried Joe and we're not leaving until you talk to us."

This time there was movement inside the room and a voice mumbling threats. Biff chocked down a laugh as a very tired looking Joe in sweats opened his door.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he let the other two pass, "I was sleeping."

"Yeah, I can tell," Iola teased as she glanced up at his messed up hair.

"Meh," was Joe's intelligent reply, "What are you two doing here?"

"We're taking you out. We've decided that you've spent way to much time moping around and that you need something to do," Iola said, in her 'don't you dare argue 'cause I won't hear otherwise' voice.

Joe cocked an eyebrow and looked at Biff. "Hey man, don't look at me, I'm only the driver."

Joe sighed, "Alright, give me a few minuets to get cleaned up."

"Seriously?" Both Iola and Biff said at the same time. They had both come here looking for a fight, and were past surprise when Joe just gave in.

"Yeah, I mean, I've spent enough time in here. Might as well see what's going on," Joe said shrugging.

"Right then," Iola said with a smile, "We'll met you down stairs."

Twenty minuets latter a freshly showered and dressed Joe met his friends and astonished aunt in the living room. Ten minuets latter the three friends were on their way to Iola's house.

"What are we doing here?" Joe asked, "I though you said we were going out."

"No, we said we were going to take you out, as in out of your room. Hell getting you to the living room did wonders," Biff joked.

"Just bare with us Joe. Come on, down to the basement with you," Iola said as she dragged Joe out of Biff's car and into her house.

Joe barely made it down five steps when everyone in the basement shouted, "SURPRISE!"

Joe was so startled that he fell back against the wall laughing. "Wow! What is this?" He asked, looking at Iola and Biff.

"Hey man, don't look at us, it was all Phil," biff said, as Iola guided Joe farther down into the basement. There Callie, Phil, Chet, Tony, and Mr. and Mrs. Morton greeted him.

Chet, Phil and Biff had been busy; the basement was completely transformed. There were streamers hung from the ceiling rafters, a stand set up for food and music. However, probably the most spectacular thing was the far wall that you saw right when you came in. It was covered in pictures of the Hardy and friends. All the good times from when the Hardy's had first moved to Bayport to the day Frank went missing.

Joe was speechless. "What, what the…you guys did all this?" he asked when he finally could think of something to say.

"Yeah, we um…we knew that you weren't doing to well and we wanted to help," Phil said.

"Joe, we knew, well Iola said that you wanted closer, that you wanted this to kind of end…but there's no real way for it to happen. I mean, not yet, but we kind of thought that this might help. That if we brought back the good times…we thought it would help," Callie said, as she gave Joe a hug.

Joe could only take his eyes off the picture wall long enough to look at his friends. Inside he could feel the wall he'd been forming start to break, and he knew he was about to cry. Some reason he didn't care, for some reason it didn't hurt as bad anymore.

* * *

I know, things are kind of slow right now, nothing much in the way of solving this bloody thing. And a lot of you are sitting there asking 'is Frank alive?', and 'was it chessman?' and my answer to you is that you'll just have to wait and see. the next chapter should tell you a lot...or at least i hope it will. 


	16. If The Pieces Fit

**If the Pieces Fits**

Fenton watched Joe leave from his office. 'Good, he needs to stop sulking…hell, so do I. It isn't solving anything,' Fenton sighed and sat down at his desk, putting his head in his hands and rubbing his temples. Only inches away from him were the damn pictures that ended the Hardy's world.

For the seven thousandth time that day Fenton pulled them in front of him. For the last three weeks Frank's case had been put on the back burner. As far as everyone was concerned Frank was dead. There were times when Fenton thought so himself, but it was always quickly surprised. Carefully, looked over the pictures, trying not to think about what these people were doing to his baby.

"Give me something Frank, anything…" that's when he saw it. There was a mirror in the room; it was way off in the corner of the print. It was a small bit, but there was a blurred image there…

With out wasting time Fenton scanned the picture into his computer, silently grateful that Frank had convinced him to get Crime Stoppers Photo Shop. It worked wonderfully; he'd been able to get more leads from the program then from plan old fashioned photo enlargement. After a few minuets he had the picture resized, and zoomed in on the corner of the room.

"Damn him…"

* * *

Fenton drove as fast as the now raining sky would let him. His knuckles were white from clutching the steering wheel to tight. He must have been breaking about twenty traffic laws to reach the apartment complex in twenty minuets.

He pounded on the door, his anger evident. "Open this door!"

"Mr. Hardy, I didn't…" Mr. Chessman's startled response was cut short when Fenton slammed the younger man into the entrance way wall.

"Where the hell is my son? What have you done to him?" Fenton growled in his face.

"Mr. Hardy, if you just wait I can explain, just calm down," the man said trying to free himself from Fenton's near death grip on his collar.

"Oh you better explain…."

"I will, I just prefer to do it inside as appose to out where my neighbors can hear."

Fenton reluctantly agreed and released the younger man, allowing him to shut the door and move into the apartment's living room.

"Would you care for something to drink or…."

"Just get on wit it!" Fenton snapped.

Chessmen sighed, and rubbed his hair and took a seat on one of the easy chairs and suddenly grew very serious. "How much do you know?"

"I know that last month my son for the first time in his life attacked someone with out reason, namely you. I know that he also for the first time in his life attacked his younger brother, his best friend. I know that he snuck out of the house sometime after I took him home. Then sometime after that he was assaulted, kidnapped, and is now presumed dead. I also know that someone has been using him as a subject in some rather sick photographs and I know that you where there," Fenton's voice was growing more and more dangerous with each word as he slowly paced the room and watched Chessmen. "I'll ask you again, where is my son, and what is being done to him?"

Chessmen was quiet as he watched the angry father pacing in his living room. 'No, not angry, worried, hurt, upset, and pissed. He wants his son; he wants to apologize for not protecting him….'

"Mr. Hardy, I will tell you everything, the whole truth and nothing but, however first I would like you to call Chief Collig and Dr. Marshal, the two who have been helping you search for your son."

"I got a better idea, why don't we go see them," Fenton said as he pulled Chessmen to his feet.

* * *

"So let me get this straight you found his image in one of the photos of Frank, and brought him here," Ezra said tiredly as he looked at Fenton. Chessmen was in an interrogation room waiting for the others while Ezra, Dr. Marshal and Fenton were outside talking.

"That's what I said Ezra. He knows something, hell he probably knows everything! He's admitted as much! Ezra, this could be the lead I've been waiting for," Fenton said, pleading with the elder man to understand.

"He's right Sir. I've been watching Mr. Chessmen; he's pacing and stroking his hair. He's upset about something, he wants to talk," Marshal chimed in.

With a frustrated sigh Ezra throws back the door and enters the interrogation room. He knew he had been defeated by tag teaming, and while he could fight with one of them, there was no way he could take on both of them.

"Well Mr. Chessman, you have some explaining to do," Ezra said, startling the younger man. "These two here think you are guilty of kidnapping, and murder."

"In a way I am…I mean, I could have moved in on the guys but didn't…" Chessmen was silent for a moment, his face growing dark with guilt. "First of all my name isn't Chessmen, its Rockton, Agent Tom Rockton, FBI."


	17. Horror Story

**Horror Story**

"What!" Ezra and Fenton said simultaneously, as they stared at the man before them.

"Look, I can explain everything, here," Chessman reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, tossing it to Fenton and Ezra, "That's my badge. All I need to do is call my boss, and then I swear I will tell you everything."

The first of the three to move was Marshal, she picked up the wallet and opened it, looking through it carefully. There was his identification card, his licenses and a badge certification card.

"No badge?" she asked looking at him from under her eyelids.

"Deep cover," he replied.

"Officer," Marshal said, addressing the young man who stood in the doorway, "as long as the chief has no objections, would you please take Agent Rockton to a private office."

Ezra just stepped out of Rockton's way as the officer escorted him out.

Fenton sat down in one of the interview chairs and ran his hair through his hair. "What the hell is going on here Ezra?"

"We're just going to have to see," was the only response.

A few minuets latter Rockton returned, he paused for a moment at the doorway and looked around at the expectant faces in front of him before walking over to a chair and flopping down. For someone who was so young, he had age greatly in the few minuets on the phone. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, rubbing his temples, trying to buy time. After another minuet of intense silence he finally started.

"About four years ago the FBI's Missing Person's Unit got word of a organization that were taking…" Rockton paused, not knowing how to phrase his next words, "well…the weren't really pornographic photos, but the weren't decent either. It's kind of hard to say really, those pictures you got of your son…' Rockton trailed off, but they all understood.

"Anyway, all the pictures are of boys between the ages of ten and eighteen. They're healthy, athletic, handsome, intelligent and most often sensitive. At first there wasn't really anything to go on, since none of the pictures were really pornographic or any of the pictures turned up anything in the missing children's reports. We were disgusted, but there wasn't anything we could do. That was until the following year when Cody Roberts went missing."

"I remember that case," Ezra said, "Eleven years old, from a well to do family, he disappeared one night while walking to a friends house. The police thought ransom."

"That was until his picture started showing up on porn cites. We traced it back to the organization. We were able to get Cody back thank god, but that's when we learned about how big this thing was. Cody was able to tell us that he met several boys who had been kidnapped and were also being photographed. After that I went into deep cover. Over the last three years I've been able to trace the organization's head to New York. We were able to close it there, but before we could move in on the top dog, he ran. He inlay resurfaced here in Bayport of all places. So I got sent undercover again."

"Didn't they think it strange that you showed up in Bayport at the same time they did?" Fenton asked, studying Rockton.

"No, I was part of the organization. I was one of the dealers….you see there are several parts to the whole thing. It starts with the recruiters, they're the ones who go out and find the boys. They get them off the street, buy them from their parents, or kidnap them. Then they get sent to the photographers, where they're photograph and so on. The photos get sent to the top dog, he looks through chooses the boys he wants to keep and the ones he wants to sell. Then the photographs get sent to the dealers, they're the ones who sell them. Some sell the boys, some sell the photos; it's all sick and twisted.

I worked my way in as a dealer, and the suspected nothing."

"Ok, here's another question, my son…."

* * *

For the first time since Frank had gone missing, Joe felt himself relaxing, returning to a state of semi-normalcy. The night was spent just talking, watching moves, eating junk food and doing everything that he'd done before. Joe constantly caught himself staring at the wall of photographs. Sometimes it brought stabs of pain through out him, others a sense of peace and comfort would wash over him. It was a sort of strange, serial experience, but one that Joe felt very grateful for. 

"Penny for your thoughts handsome," Iola said as she plopped down next to him on the couch. She had caught him staring at the photos again and was a little concerned that the pictures might have been too much.

Joe gave her a soft smile and wrapped an arm around her. "Just thinking about some of the things Frank and I've done. You know, like all the cases, all the sports, and traveling. You know, prier to popular belief Frank and I actually went on a few vacations without a mystery."

"Really? Name one," Iola challenged.

"Uh…well there was that time when we went to….no wait that was a bank heist…oh I know the time we went to Florida…oh yeah the kidnappings…uh, how long do I get to think about this?"

Iola laughed as she swatted Joe's chest. "Hah! You can't name a single trip can you?"

"Yeah I can…I just have to think…oh I know! Our trip to our grandparents last April!"

"What?"

"Last April, for Easter when we up to New York to our grandparents, it was a complete vacation."

Iola laughed again, "I'm sure it was very boring."

"Actually it was," Joe said, with the most sincere look on his face, that it sent Iola into a new wave of giggles.

"You're mean!"

"Hey! It's the truth!"

"Oh Joe Hardy…" the two fell into an easy silence, relaxing in each other's company and the peaceful glow of the past.

* * *

"Is my son still alive?" Fenton asked. 

"The last time I saw him was at that photo shoot, the one where you found my image," Rockton said.

"That doesn't answer my question."

There was a long silence before Rockton answered.


	18. Closer

Closer

"What's so funny?" Iola asked her boyfriend after he'd been laughing quietly to himself.

"Thanksgiving is this week. Every year after dinner, Frank, dad, mom and I would play football. See dad hate's watching it on TV, he likes being there, and I'd go crazy if I didn't have a game. I remember once, I was in a face off with Frank. It was freezing, snow falling; dark as hell, and I swear Frank was turning blue. Mom and dad had called it a night and gone in for pie, but I didn't want to leave a game unfinished. And I was pitching a fit about it, so Frank stayed out there with me."

Iola smiled as she noticed that the others had all gathered around to listen, and Joe hadn't noticed to caught up in the memory. "Who won?" Iola asked.

"He kicked my ass. He was really pissed about being out there and he kicked my ass. I was sore for a month."

The room erupted into laughter and Joe blushed at the sudden realization that everyone was listening. But the embarrassment didn't last long as Joe went into a play-by-play of the game. Soon others were telling stories of Frank and them, or stories of the brothers, or just Frank. And instead of being bitter or painful, it was relaxing, freeing, it brought them all a sense of peace that thy thought they'd lost.

* * *

"Is my son still alive?" Fenton asked.

"The last time I saw him was at that photo shoot, the one where you found my image," Rockton said.

"That doesn't answer my question."

There was a long silence before Rockton answered.

"Agent?" Ezra asked, worry lining the question. The look in Rockton's face was not the most promising.

"I don't know. The last time I saw him, really saw him, was months ago when his first set of pictures. I haven't seen him since."

"First set?" Fenton chocked out.

"There are several others…like the ones I sent you. Apparently your son is in high demand, he photographs well. Those were all I could get."

"He photographs well," Fenton said with disgust.

"Yeah. That's what they say. As far as I know they don't keep him with the other boys. They have him imprisoned some place else. If my gut is right, and I'm judging the evidence and leads I've collected correctly, then he's being kept by their leader. A guy named Cole Winchester," Rockton said.

"So, what else do you know?" Ezra asked as a silence fell.

"We have a few leads. Let me contact my unit, I'll recommend that we move in. I've seen enough undercover to shut them down."

Dr. Marshal hadn't been listening to what Rockton had been saying; she was more concerned with Fenton, who had withdrawn from everyone.

"Fenton, what's wrong?" she asked softly, trying to draw him up and causing the other two men to pause in their conversation.

At first it didn't seem as if Fenton had heard her, but after a moment he spoke, "Ezra, I need you to send a car for Joe, he's at the Morton's farm, I can give you directions, but you need to send someone for him and bring him here.

"Fenton, what, why?" Ezra asked totally lost.

"Because I can't lose both of my sons…."


	19. Reach Out and Take

**Reach Out and Take….**

Mrs. Morton smiled at the laughter that she heard from the basement, and the smile only grew as she heard Joe's famous laugh drifting up with the others.

She was in the kitchen making up some more food for the kids. It was so good to see them bringing back some sense of normalcy. She sighed at the thought that Joe and everyone else, were finally starting to come to terms with Frank's death. Her happiness though turned to pain at the thought of the 'son' she'd loss.

Ever since the Hardy's had moved to Bayport she had loved them. Maybe it had to do with the way that the boys, Chet and Phil had met.

_"Hey Chubs! Move it, you're blocking my way!" Shane shouted as he rammed into poor Chet. It was a bright, sunny day in Bayport. School had just ended and many of the kids were playing on the school's blacktop. Seven year old Phil and Chet were clustered together, kind of hiding from the rest of the world. Chet being very chubby and Phil being very small and smart, they had ended up in more then one bullies target list. Today, Shane Miller and his idiotic friends had the boys in their sights._

_"Hey! What was that for?" Chet whined from the ground where Shane had knocked him._

_"Not my fault that you're so fat you blocks the whole walkway. I needed to get by," Shane snickered._

_"You're a jerk," Phil said as he bent to help Chet up._

_"Better then being babies!" Shane yelled as he pushed Phil down on top of Chet, causing the others to laugh. "Awe, look, they're kissing!" Shane added which only made the others laugh more._

_"Hey! Knock it off!" came an unfamiliar voice from behind the group. The others turned to see the new kids, seven-year-old Frank, and six year old Joe behind them. Joe was looking around wide-eyed and a little nervous. Frank on the other hand was upset, he never liked seeing people being hurt._

_"Hey, you're the new guy," Shane said._

_"I have a name, it's Frank. What's going on?"_

_"None of your business. Why don't you take the baby behind you and go home!"_

_"I'm not a baby!" Joe snapped at Shane from behind Frank, preparing his six-year-old self to hit Shane._

_"He's not a baby, he's my brother. He's got a name too, it's Joe," Frank said smartly, as he restrained his younger brother._

_Shane glared at Frank and stepped closer to him. "I said he's a baby, just like these two cry babies."_

_"He's not a baby," Frank said, dropping his voice to a whisper. Joe knew that voice, it was the 'don't mess with me,' voice. Joe stepped back, his eyes gleaming because for once he wasn't the one to get punched._

_"I say he is," Shane said, stepping really close to Frank._

_"You know what? I think you're the baby. I mean, you're the one picking on kids who are younger then you or in a smaller group," Frank said referring to his brother and Chet and Phil._

_Shane's face twisted in a scowl and he tried to push Frank. But Frank was quicker and he sidestepped the boy. After putting all his weight into the lunge, Shane was left off balance, and when he didn't hit Frank he fell on his face._

_It seemed that the whole playground erupted into laughter._

Mrs. Morton smiled at the memory. She had been in the parking lot watching everything, from the moment when Shane had hit Chet, to the moment that Frank and Joe had stepped in. From that moment on the boys had been friends; spending every moment they could together. And it didn't stop with Chet and Phil; soon they had added Biff and Tony to the mix. And Iola had always been allowed to join the boys. It seemed that Frank had delighted in making her his little sister and Joe, well Joe and Iola were very good togather.

Mrs. Morton loved the Hardy's fiercely, and for Frank to be gone, it was just too painful.

A knock at the door snapped Mrs. Morton out of her thoughts. "Iola! Iola dear, I need you to come and watch the oven, someone's at the door!" Mrs. Morton called down to her daughter.

"Coming mama!" Iola said between bits of laughter.

Mrs. Morton smiled and left the kitchen to get the door.

"Hello, ma'am, sorry to intrude," said a young police officer.

"Oh, no, you're not intruding on anything. Come on in, how can I help you Mr.."

"Riley, Con Riley ma'am."

"Con Riley? Are you the young officer that the Hardy's keep talking about?"

Con blushed slightly, "Guilty. I hate to be a bother, but I've…."

"Con? What are you doing here? What's wrong?" Joe asked from the kitchen door, a frown marking his face.

"Joe, I need you to come with me, no arguments. We need to get you home."

"What's happened? What's wrong?" Joe asked, boarder lining on panic.

"We have a lead and a suspect, but we need to get you home."

"A lead? Suspect? That's good right?" Iola said, excitement filling her voice. She had wandered out to the others upon hearing Joe's tension. She arrived just in time to hear the last bit of the conversation.

"Yes and no, your father thinks that the guy could come after you," Con informed them all, but was looking directly at Joe.

"Me? What…why? I don't…."

"Nether do I, but I don't argue with your dad or the chief. Just come on, let's get going."

"Yeah, let me get my coat…."

* * *

"Alright, now that I've woken Con up on his night off and sent him to go get Joe, you want to tell me what's going on?" 

"Cole Winchester is better known as Shutter Bug. He was a small time hit man for some of New York's more established families and a full time pervert. He fancied himself as an artist. When he wasn't killing people, he was taking pictures of kids. Any kind of pictures. It was never proven; he went away for murder one. But it was no secret," Fenton answered, rubbing his hands through his hair.

"Let me guess, you put him away?" Rockton asked.

"Kind of. I worked the case off and on, didn't get evolved until the very, very end, really. But for some reason I was the one targeted. Probably cause of my other work evolving the families. I have no idea, but I know that he started to take an interest in my family. The boys to be precise," Fenton finished, looking around at the others.

"The one's who bark rarely bite. Did Winchester send you any threats, any letters?" Marshal asked.

"Not really. Every now and then I got a letter with a clipping about the boys, you know little league stuff or whatever. But that only went on for a year…haven't gotten a letter or clipping from him since we moved to Bayport."

"Do you know for sure it was Winchester?" Ezra asked.

"When they first started showing up I had the letters traced. It was him," Fenton sighed.

"Why do you think both boys are endanger?" Rockton asked, leaning in.

"Because the reasons I got the trace was because he sent me a sketch of the boys. Both of them, bond and beaten. In a similar style to the photos of Frank."

* * *

Con and Joe drove in silence, both men were trying not to think about anything. For Joe this was harder then it seemed. 

'I'm in danger? Why me? How am I in danger? They have Frank, they took him…is this some revenge planed for dad? Are they going to kill both of us to get back at dad? And who is _them_? Con said there's a suspect, who?'

Joe was jolted from his ponderings by a sudden change in speed.

"Con?" Joe asked confused. In all the years Joe had known him, Con had only ever speed up when he was answering a call.

"We're being followed. Hang on," was the brief reply as Con made a sharp turn.

Joe risked a glance behind him to get a look at the car. It was your typical tail car, a dark, four door, SUV that was far enough back you couldn't get a good look, but close enough that you couldn't shake them.

Con speed down the road, making random turns and double backing every now and then. It was a wiled ride for Joe, who had rarely had to dodge tails before. But in a way he kind of found himself enjoying the ride. That was until the tail rear-ended them.

The sudden hit and the high speed caused Con to lose control. The car spun out, and landed against a guardrail, pinning the drive side door closed.

Time seemed to stand still as Con watched in horror as the guys who had been tailing them yanked open the passenger door and dragged Joe from the car.


	20. Everything

**Everything.**

"What do you know about Winchester?" Marshal asked Fenton, who was nervously rubbing his hands through his hair.

"Not much. Like I said he was a low life for the mob. Hit man by day, kiddy porn maker by night. All around a _lovely_ guy," Fenton said, adding just a hint of sarcasm to his last words.

"You ever see any of the pictures?"

"Nope, one less nightmare, until now."

"Did he brag to anyone? Did he talk to undercover officers?"

"Yeah he talked some, nothing that you could pin on him. And all the leads we got, the hints, hearsay. We had nothing."

"Why don't you tell me about the investigation," Marshal probed.

Fenton sighed, and started to pace. After a minuet he sat down again and looked at Marshal. "I didn't join until the end."

"You know more then me."

"Alright. I was looking into a missing person's case, a kid disappeared and his family had connections. But these connections led to Winchester and to his homicide case. So…."

"You got assigned to homicide," Rockton concluded.

"Yeah, basically. That week they closed in on him. I don't know much about the investigation. It was a long time ago."

"Like I said, you know more then we do," Marshal encouraged.

"Some kids skipping school found a body. They traced the bullet to several other murders."

"Winchester. But I thought hit man for the mob were better then that. Just letting his gun get traced," Rockton said.

"Hmm…you're ether to young or you've been in the FBI to long. But you see son, we have this thing called police work. That's where you go out and talk to people, not search databases or whatever. In fact, we didn't even have data bases back then," Ezra snapped a little.

"Sorry, I was just saying that most hit man that are hired by the mob aren't sloppy. The mob doesn't want things traced to them. A bad hit man well…." Rockton stated.

"He's got you beat Ezra. Give the kid a break," Marshal snickered at the chief, then turned to address Rockton. "You'll have to forgive the old law dog. You see he's got it in his head that all officers under the age of thirty are just here to push the old guys out and are too wet behind the years."

"And you're right Rockton. Winchester wasn't sloppy at all. Took them almost seven months to even find anyone who knew about him. His only mistake was pissing off another mob family. An informant dropped Winchester's name, another month and they the murders to him. He got murder one, god only knows how and why, his connections if I had to guess. He agreed to the time, went away and that's all I know," Fenton said.

There was silence for a few minuets as the others took in what Fenton had said.

"Hmm…I think that if we are looking at him for a suspect I want more. Does your unit include a profiler Agent Rockton?" Marshal asked.

"Yes, Jim Smith. Give me an half hour and you two can be chatting away."

* * *

Joe didn't even have time to feel anything before he was being yanked out into the cold November night.

"Hey!" he shouted as his already bruised legs hit the pavement.

"Quit whining!" Joe's attacker snapped as he pulled Joe roughly to his feet and started dragging Joe to the SUV.

"I'm not whining, I'm fighting," Joe hissed as he started to struggle with the man. "Let me go," he ordered, but the only response was an arm wrapped around his neck.

"What's the matter Joey? Don't you want to see your brother?" the man snickered, stunning Joe enough that he paused briefly in his struggles. That pause was all the guy needed to shove Joe in to the back of the SUV and speed off.

Con watched the whole thing from his position trapped in the car. Pain was washing over him in tidal waves. When the car had hit the guardrail he had been thrown hard into the dash, hitting his head and face on the wheel in the process.

"Joe," he called out softly, but he was too dizzy to move. He was helpless to do anything but watch the SUV drive off with Joe in it.

* * *

"So I made the call, and Smith will be here in about twenty minuets, in fact he and the unit. They want to talk to you guys about forming a joint operation," Rockton informed the others as he hung up the phone.

They group had moved to a task force meeting room for more space. Marshal had printed out Winchester's rap sheet and the case files for his arrest and was now reviewing it.

"That's good," she mumbled. She was caught up in the files and barely noticed him. Ezra and Fenton however heard him.

"The FBI was a joint task force?" Ezra asked, jaw dropped.

"Yup, we want a joint task force. Two reasons there's no way in hell that we're going to keep you out of this, and you guys have more resources right at the moment."

"Whatever, as long as we're in," Ezra said. "When will they be here again?"

"About twenty minuets," Rockton said, sinking into a chair.

"Hmmm…speaking of arrivals, when did Con say he'd be here?" Fenton asked.

"He didn't," Ezra answered. "Don't worry, they're fine Fenton. He'll be here with Joe soon."

"I hope so…."

"There it is," Marshal said with a note of triumph.

"What's it?" Rockton asked.

"His tick. I don't know about the photos for sure, that's why I want to talk to your guy, but I think I know his tick!"

"Wow, what's a tick? What's his tick? What are you talking about?" Rockton asked, very confused.

"It's how she defines the thing or things that drives a person," Ezra answered.

"Oh Ezra, I'm flattered, you really have been listening to me," Marshal joked. "Ezra said, I couldn't have said it better. It's what drives a person, what makes them tick. For example, you like the adrenalin of going undercover or working a lead. And at the end of a case you like the satisfaction of out smarting someone. Well for Winchester it's control. It's power. In his hits he's got power of a person's life or death. In the pictures he's got power of the kid's bodies."

The room fell into a disgusted silence for a few moments until Rockton said, "He's one sick son of a bitch."

There were murmurs of agreement and Marshal was about to say something when a patrol officer opened the door and called out for the chief.

"Chief sir, sorry to interrupt but Riley called in…" the young woman said, nervously.

"Yes, and what did he have to say?" Ezra asked.

"He got jumped sir, his car was rammed. Someone took Joe Hardy."


	21. Come Play A Game

**Come Play a Game**

Ok,

I can explainabout the spelling. First off, i'm really, really sorry. I know it's a big distracter, and I'm trying, believe it or not I'm getting better. Except there's nothing that I really can do about it, unless you guys tell me were I messed up. I'm dyslexic among many other spelling disabilities. I spell things the way I hear them, and try to make them at least some what close to English.

Let memake you deal, tell me where I messed up and I'll fix it and repost, like i did to this chap. And I'll do it for all the chaps ifI have to.

Again, I'm sooooo sorry. Ihope you guys like the story anyways.

Ty.

* * *

Fenton's heart dropped. "What?" he hissed.

"Someone took Joe Hardy, I'm sorry sir. Con's at the hospital…he's pretty banged up…he tried…" the young officer rambled on, but Fenton didn't hear her. 'Damn it, not Joe. God please, not Joe too. I can't lose both of them…I can't…' Fenton looked up at the officer who was still talking to the others and broke into the conversation.

"How long ago?"

"Sorry?" she said caught off guard.

"How long ago was he taken?" Fenton asked.

"About an hour..."

"Damn it," Fenton said slamming his fist into the table. "They planned this Ezra, they planned this! He planned it! But for the love of God, why?" Fenton asked, his face searching from Ezra to Rockton to Marshal.

"Maybe we can help you with that sir," called a voice from the doorway. The young officer had been replaced by several men in suits with 'Special Agent' badges. "My name is Roy Allen; these are my partners Mike Downs, Steven Miller, and Dr. Jeff Smith. I believe Agent Rockton told you about us."

"Guys, I'd like you to meet my boss, boss I'd like you to meet the guys…" Rockton said.

* * *

Joe was past confused. He played the last hours events over in his head for the hundredth time, the crash, Con calling for him, someone grabbing him and pulling him from the car, shoving him into another one and speeding off…and he was still confused.

Where the hell was he going? Who had him? Was this one of the guys who had Frank? Why did they take him if they wanted Frank? What the hell was going on?

"I know you got questions pretty boy, but they'll be answered soon. We're here, so you best be on your best behavior. Got it?" the man who had grabbed him warned.

Joe just glared at him, his head hurt too much for him to reply.

The man turned off the engine and got out, moments latter he pulled Joe out of the car as well. They were in a vacant lot under an over passing, it was dark and cold, the kind of place no street light reached. 'Straight out of a cop show,' Joe thought as he looked around. Joe could make out four other people near two small bonfires, and a lump in between the two fires.

As they got closer the people started to become clearer. They were all dressed in dark clothing with skin masks, and one of them had a camera and was taking pictures of the lump, which, as it turned out, was not a lump after all. In fact as Joe got closer he could tell that the lump was…

"Frank!" Joe called as he tried to run up to his brother. He was stopped, however, by the man, who was holding onto his arm with a vice grip.

"Now hold on there pretty boy, just hold on. Take your time, you likely to slip," The man said as he pulled Joe to him. "We're going to play a game pretty boy, so listen closely while I explain the rules. That is in fact your brother; he's getting his picture taken, see, no one's hurting him. We're going to get closer, and I want you to stay with me ok?"

Joe nodded, never once shifting his gaze from his brother. Together the man and Joe made there was towards Frank, and when they were about thirty feet away, they stopped.

"Let me see him…Let me see him…Frank!" Joe called, as he struggled in the man's grip.

"Now hold on there, hold on…relax. You'll get to see him soon enough, well as long as you do one thing."

"What? What do I have to do?"

"You have to play a game with me…."

* * *

"Has Tom filled you guys in?" Allen asked.

"About as much as he can. I need to speak with the good doctor, compare notes, and Mr. Hardy need's to update you on our current situation," Marshal answered for the room.

"And you are…" Allen asked politely.

"Doctor Marshal, I'm a criminal profiler for the Bayport Police," Marshal said, shaking his hand. "This is caption Ezra Collig, and Detective Fenton Hardy, P.I. I believe you already know Agent Rockton," she responded.

"I see. Well don't we have a room full of over qualification. When Tom last reported in, he told us that a Frank Hardy was kidnapped, and his father had found him. I take it that's you?" Allen asked, eyeing Fenton.

"That's I. Frank was taken about six weeks ago; I'm hoping to have him home for Thanksgiving. Him and Joe," Fenton said.

"Joe?" Allen asked, surprised.

"Yes sir, Joe is Mr. Hardy's younger son. As of an hour ago while en route form here with officer Con Riley, however they were ambushed. Joe was kidnapped, Riley's in the hospital," Rockton said.

There was a 'God damn it' silence for a few moments before Allen said, "Why don't we let the good doctors talk, and you three fill the rest of my team in. I need to know what you guys have discovered so far, and what leads you have. Allen then addressed the doctors and said, "Why don't you two find another room so we're not talking over each other?"

"I'll have an officer take them to my office…" Ezra began.

"No need, I know the way Ezra. You boys behave," Marshal chided as she lead Dr. Smith to towards the office.

* * *

"It's really very simple Joe. All you have to do is tell me if your brother is alive or dead. Guess right, and you get to keep him, guess wrong and I get to keep him. You have five minuets," the man whispered in Joe's ear. "Go.'

Joe was speechless, all he had to do was guess if Frank was alive or not and he'd get his brother back…unless he guessed wrong. And then there was always the question what if Frank was dead…?

"Three minuets…."

Joe shoved the questions aside and ignored the knot in his stomach. He focused all his attention, instead, on his brother. Frank was pale, actually white was more like it, white and thin, almost a ghost. His hair was a bit longer, messy, and a little dirty. He was dressed in only a pair of lose fitting pants, and by the looks of it they were resting low on his waist. He was lying on his side in a drainage ditch under the bridge.

Joe swallowed the vile that threatened to erupt in him at the sight of his brother. He concentrated on trying to find any sign of life…but he was to far away to really tell.

'They wouldn't kill him and keep him this long…but those pictures…but why keep him…and if they did keep him he wouldn't look like that…I mean he's have started to decay…but it's not summer, it's cold as hell out here…but he's so pale, so still...I don't know…I don't know…."

"Time's up Joey. Is Frankie alive or dead?"

"I…I…" Joe started, tears starting to cloud his vision.

"I, what? What is it Joe?"

"I don't know…I can't tell…I don't know…." Joe sobbed as he started to sink to the ground, his view of his brother blurred by the tears.

The man let him fall, laughing as he took in the sight. "You mean to tell me that Joe Hardy, the son of The Great Fenton Hardy, can't tell if his own brother is dead? You're pathetic!"

"Please…please…I want my brother back…can I have Frank back…please?" Joe begged, still sobbing as he watched the man walk away from him.

The man stopped in his tracks and turned around, heading back to Joe. He grabbed the youth and picked him p by his collar. "If you wanted your brother back maybe you should have answered the question!" he growled.

"He's alive…Frank's alive…" Joe choked out.

"Oh no, no, no, Joey Boy. No second chances. You had your shot and you blew it. Now I'm going to take poor Frankie back with me and he's mine Joey. He's mine now. You'll never get him back; you will never get him back. All you had to do was guess, and now you'll never get your brother back," the man sneered as he tossed Joe to the ground and turned back to the men who were photographing Frank. "Let's wrap it up boys!"

Joe landed hard, hitting his head on the ground as he did. He tried desperately to stand, but never made it any higher then his hands and knees. "P…p…please…" he called out hoarsely. But the man never acknowledged him again. "Don't…don't take him…" Joe called, starting to crawl towards them. "Please..." Joe got a face full of dirt as he lost his balance and fell.

The last thing he saw as darkness took him was the man picking Frank up and walking past him.


	22. One Found

**One Found...**

Joe's head throbbed as dotted blackness replaced inky blackness. Slowly his hands groped around, looking for a hand hold to help him stand. What he found instead was something glossy. Groaning, he pulled himself up so he was seated. It took him a minuet to regain his senses, his head was throbbing, his stomach was noted and he was dizzy. After a few minuets, Joe pulled himself together and started searching around for the glossy something his hand had hit, which turned out to be more pictures. Using the light that was still provided by the fire behind him, Joe scanned the photos he had found next to his head.

In the first picture, Frank was bound to a bed, his hands tied above his head his legs tied together. He was blindfolded as well. The blue shirt he had on was cut open, and the pants he had on also had slits up the side. There was someone in the picture with him, a man, but Joe couldn't see his face. He was basically on top of Frank, his upper body holding him down while he pressed a knife blade to his lips.

The next picture wasn't much better. Frank had been stripped down to his boxers. He was bond again, and gagged, and this time un-blindfolded. His brown eyes were wide with what Joe could only imagine was fear. He was looking at something from his propped position against a basement wall. There were marks on his torso, welts, and Joe could only imagine what they had done to him.

The third picture featured Frank again, only this time he was untied, un-gagged, and un-blindfolded. He was being restrained, instead, by another faceless man. They were seated on a bed, Frank in his lap, there was one arm around Frank's waist, pinning his arms to his sides. The man's other hand was grasping Frank by the chine and forcing his head still while he kissed him.

And they went on like that; some of them worse, some of them better.

As he looked at the last one, Joe felt sick. He dropped them, hands shaking, as he stomach starting kicking. He turned his head just in time to vomit.

* * *

"So Dr. Smith, why don't you fill me in on what you know?" Dr. Marshal said as she shut the door to Ezra's office. 

"You don't waste any time do you, by the way you can call me Jeff," he said with a chuckle.

"Alright Jeff, talk to me," Marshal said as she took a seat on Ezra's desk so she could face Jeff.

"The guys a bustard. Pure and simple, he's a perverted bustard. He takes boys that look good, but they don't just look good…there has to be something about them. Most of the boys have something about tem, something that sets them apart. They're confident, intelligent, well adjusted or all of the above and he likes to destroy that. He does everything he can do to break them," Jeff said.

"He wants to strike out at a perfect image, he wants that gone. He wants them to break because it's power, control. Why?" Marshal asked, though she could guess at the answer.

"Because he was broken. I searched records on our leading suspect, Mr. Whinchester, seven foster homes. Taken from his parents at the age of ten for physical abuse and suspect sexually abuse. He was bounced around, no control, no power, no perfection."

"Until he gets to the mob and they hand him a gun. Killing a guy was probably his first taste of power. He's probably raped more then his share of women and kids, finding that he prefers boys," she said with disgust. "My best guess is that he like the kick he gets to see these strong kids quiver in fear and obey him. You ask me, I bet you he's at every photo shoot, approves every boy taken, controls everything they do. That's what he's all about, control."

"Agreed, I got the same feeling. I bet he hates prison."

"Wouldn't it be great to put him in there again?"

* * *

Joe sat with his head on his knees, taking a few deep breaths. He was pretty sure there was nothing left in his stomach, but he didn't want to take any chances. Besides, he was feeling really weak, and all he wanted to do was stretch out and go to sleep. 

He turned his head and looked at the disgusting pictures that had scattered around.

"Can't sleep yet Joe," he told himself, "Got to tell dad."

Slowly, Joe pulled himself up off the ground, gathering the pictures at the same time. It took him a minuet to get his bearings, but he guessed, by the sound of passing cars, the road wasn't to far away from him, maybe a quarter mile. Which was a good thing, 'cause he didn't know how long he could stay standing.

He made his way, at a good pace, despite the staggering and with in twenty minuets had found the road. There were no more cars, but there was a gas station visible, so Joe headed there. It took him another ten minuets to make it, all the while his staggering getting worse and his head throbbing steadily.

He finally reached the safety of the florescent glow though, and got a hold of a pay phone.

"Hell, operator, I need to make an emergency call to Fenton Hardy please. I'm his son, Joe Hardy, his cell's…."

* * *

"So, so far, you guys are at the same place we are with two exceptions, your sons," Roy said. The two teams had been debriefing each other, filling in all the cracks for each other. 

"Sounds like it," Fenton confirmed, a little frazzled. Basically they were no where. They had a lot of information, but that never got a warrant, and with out a warrant they couldn't get any where. What's worse was now he was going to have to call Laura and tell her that, while they had a suspect, their suspect was a pedophile who now had both their sons. That was a conversation he was not looking forward to having.

"So what are our options?" Rockton asked, boarding on hopelessness.

"We wait for the docs to talk things out, see what they can give us, then go from there. There's not really anything we can do until we find a flaw, a mistake this SOB made," Ezra answered.

"He's right boss. I suggest that Rockton get back out there. He's got a new boy, he's gonna have new pictures soon. Could Rockton set something up, you know go 'Hey a friend of mine just flew in. He saw your work, wants to know if you have a blond?" Pitched in Steven. The other two agents had been mostly silent, letting their boss do the talking. But sensing the hopelessness of the other Steven had to put in something, it was just who he was.

"It's an idea, he doesn't know Mike," Roy said, considering it.

"Kind of sudden though, and with my experience with these guys to soon. The have a breaking in period. I mean Frank's first photo shoot was about a week after he went missing," Rockton stated.

"So we have about a week to find Joe before they start in on him or not?" Fenton asked, worried.

"I don't know what they do to the boys that first week. I'm sorry, I was lucky to get an invite to the shoot. They don't trust anyone."

"Why do they trust you?" Ezra asked.

Before Rockton could answer Fenton's phone went off. "Fenton Hardy…You bet I'll accept….Joe? Joe are you alright…? Where are you…? Mike's Auto and Gas, off of Dublin, got it. We'll be there soon son…Stay put and Joe…I love you." Fenton hung up and he could barely suppress his joy.

"He's at Mike's Auto and Gas, they let him go. He's alright."


	23. One To Go

_Alright, first i'm sorry about waiting so long to update. It's just been one hell storm after another here, but now most of the shit has passed and i should be finished soon. Anyway, the real reason i'm writing this very annyoing AN and making you read it before the next chapert is because i'm writing you a _**WARNING!**

**Up until now the story's been boarder line dark and creepy, from now on it's going to be dark and creepy and only get darker and creepier. Tell me if it get's to bad and i'll strat posting an edited and unedited version of each chapter.**

_Anyways, thanks for reading. Enjoy this chap and i'll post more soon._

_PS let me know what you think._

_Ty_

_

* * *

_

_One To Go_

Joe was huddled against the wall to the garage, staring blankly out into the night, shivering but not from the cold November air. He could hear the sirens approaching, but it was like they were under miles and miles of water; distant, unreal. Even as the light of the cars hit him in the face, Joe didn't flinch, didn't register anything.

His mind was numb, sluggish; as if his brain had just told itself, "nope, not going to do this. Not going to see this. Cannot compute."

He could hear voices, but couldn't understand them. He was vaguely aware of cautious foot steps approaching him, but he still didn't focus.

"Joe…" someone called, softly, gently. "Joe, can you hear me?" But the sound was miles away. The voice was familiar, he should know the speaker, but he didn't.

"Joe, are you alright?" the speaker said again, but still he couldn't focus, the voice still to far off. He wanted to say something, he knew that he should, part of his mind was screaming for him too. But he couldn't…there was too much fuzz in his head.

"Joey," carefully the speaker turned Joe's head so that Joe was looking in his eyes and the first layer of fuzz started to clear. Joe's mind started to focus, telling itself "I know this person, this guy's safe…I know him…."

Joe leaned into the man, resting his head on his shoulder, no longer able to support himself. The man didn't pull away, didn't push him away, instead he wrapped his arms tightly around him, and began to stroke his back.

"I've got you Joey, I've got you, you're safe."

Joe's mind could no longer take it; it could no longer protect him from reality and the fuzz that had been keeping his feelings at bay faded. He broke down.

* * *

Laura Hardy was not happy. She wasn't even mad; she was well and truly pissed. First Frank had done the impossible ad attacked Joe. Then Fenton had all but pushed Frank out the door. Then came the journal, then the investigation which lead to Frank being presumed dead, but that was only because Fenton wouldn't let it rest. Fenton wouldn't give up, he felt too guilty to let it rest. Now to top it all off, Joe was in the hospital. This was not how Laura envisioned starting the Holidays.

Laura sighed. She was seated in a small hospital room stroking Joe's hair. There wasn't anything really wrong with him. He had a few bumps and buries, and a mild concussion. But he was in shock, whatever the kidnappers did to him had hurt Joe more then the car accident, it had hurt him so bad that the doctors had to sedate him.

The door to the room opened, causing a thin beam of light to invaded the dimly lit room. Laura didn't have to look up, didn't have to cheek to see if it was a bad guy coming for her baby. There were two officers at the door and they had orders to only allow the Chief, Fenton, the FBI guys, Dr. Marshal and the hospital staff in. She only had to guess which one of them was coming in, and it wasn't that hard. No officer was allowed in the room until Joe was rested, Doctor's orders.

"What happened Fenton?" Laura asked, eyes never leaving Joe.

Fenton sighed and walked to the other side of Joe. He gently smoothed back some hair that had fallen into Joe's face, staring at him trying to get some peace back in his life.

"Fenton, I wanting," Laura almost hissed.

Another sigh and Fenton told Laura everything that he knew, well almost everything. There was no need to tell her about the pictures, she didn't need to know about that yet.

Laura was silent which made Fenton tense. Those beautiful blue eyes were shinning with emotion. They flashed from anger, to fear, to anger, to anguish, to anger to guilt, to anger, and then to suspicion with a hint of anger.

"What aren't you telling me?" she asked in a low voice that reminded Fenton way to much of an angry mother lion.

"Nothing," he said as calming as he could, meeting her luscious and still angry eyes.

Laura narrowed her eyes, and Fenton could feel her gaze piercing him. "What aren't you telling me?" she repeated.

Fenton sighed and looked back down at Joe. His face had some color back to it, and it was slack with drug induced sleep. Asleep he looked like he was at least twelve, he looked at peace. But Fenton knew better. Under that drugged haze Joe was a mess of emotion and as soon as the drugs were gone he'd be a mess of emotions. Hell, the whole family is a mess of emotions.

"You really don't think we'll find him alive do you? Even though there's a FBI witness saying that he's alive," Fenton said, not looking at her.

Laura sat back, a little surprised. Fenton's voice was neutral, bland, like her answer didn't matter. But his body langue, the way he stood, the way he stroke Joe's hair and stared so intently at their youngest, it all said one thing…'how could you?'

'How could you give up on him? Your own son, your child and you don't believe he's alive that he's coming back. You don't believe that he's strong enough to survive whatever hell he's be dragged into. How could you?'

Underneath those carefully said words, that oh so carefully bland, neutrally crafted question was accusation. Accusation that Laura Hardy had given up, given up and turned her back on her son. And on the surface she had. She had told herself that Frank was dead. That her baby had be murdered, his wrists slashed by some monster, prepared herself that she would never see Frankie again. Never get to hold him, never mess with his hair, or take him shopping for books and antiques like they use to. Never get to spend nights just talking, or watching movies, or just reading in the same room. She'd never get to hear him laugh or say I love you or tease him when he got to serious or see him again. She'd never get her baby back.

She thought she was preparing herself. Bracing herself for the enviable, teaching herself how to live with out him. She thought that she was facing reality while Fenton was chasing illusion. When in truth she was just taking the easy way out, just making things easy, uncomplicated. All the facts said that her son was dead, but all her instincts, all her emotions; all her hart said was her son was alive. That there was still time. But it was just easier to deal with his death now then to hold onto hope and let his death destroy her latter.

Laura took a deep breath and said just that to Fenton.

"So you tell yourself that he's dead because if he does die you think it would be easier?" Fenton said with a hint of bitterness. "Laura I know you, I know how fiercely you love all of us, especially the boys. If you found out tat Frank was still alive after you thought him dead, then he was found dead again you would still be destroyed."

"Don't lecture me on my feelings Fenton Hardy," Laura was up now, up and pacing the room, her voice filled with anger. "Why did you take that journal from Joe? Why did you talk Ezra into make this a missing person's case and not a run-a-way? Because you felt guilty! Because you did the one thing that you always swore you would never do, you acted like your father! You took your anger out on your son instead of listening to him."

It was Fenton's turn to get angry, but it was anger that he couldn't use. She was right; God knows that Laura was right. That was the reason that he was so driven to catch this guy. That was the reason that he wanted Frank to be alive, that he needed to find him. God if it didn't piss him off.

Fenton closed his eyes and took a deep breath to try and calm himself and it helped…a little. "What do you want me to say Laura? What do you want from me?"

It was Laura's turn to try and calm herself, "I want the truth Fenton. I want to know what's going on. I want to know why my son is so scared that he's in shock. I want to know what they did to my babies. I want to know what they've been doing to my son! Fenton I want you to answer me!" Laura cried as her carefully built walls started to crumble.

Instantly Fenton was there, holding her, feeling his own walls break down. "I'm trying, God knows I'm trying. We're getting closer Laura; we're getting so much closer…."

The two of them stood like that for a few minuets until a knock on the door separated them. Laura dabbed her eyes and crossed back over to Joe while Fenton went to answer it.

"Fenton we've annualized the pictures," said an egger Rockton who was all but waving an envelope around as he entered the room. Ezra and Agent Allen followed him in also egger.

"Pictures?" Laura said as she walked over to the four men. She reached out to the envelope in Rockton's hand, and he hesitated to give it to her. He glanced nervously at Fenton who just shrugged. As badly as he didn't want Laura to see those pictures, as badly as he knew it would hurt her, he couldn't protect her. The time for that had long sense past and it had never been his job in the first place.

Laura took the envelop and gently pulled out the pictures. She looked through them slowly, her eyes widened, a gasp caught in her throat. Horror clear-as-day written all over her face. By the time she'd looked through half of them she was crying and Fenton was pretty sure she wouldn't be able to see the rest clearly.

When she had looked through them all she seemed to get calmer, and the tension of three of the men in the room eased some. But Fenton knew better.

Calm eyes looked up at the men but past them at the same time, and her voice was steady as she spoke, "What have they done to him?" Her eyes looked to the FBI men and were losing some of their calm, "What are they doing to him?" When the two men just bowed their heads her gaze fell on Ezra who shifted uneasily. "What are they doing to my son? What have they done to my boy? What's happened to Frank?" she demanded, her eyes now losing all calm and replacing it with a mother's rage.

"Laura…" Fenton said, taking a step towards her, but she moved away, now facing him, her free hand in a fist. "What are they doing to my baby Fenton? What are they doing to my baby? My Frankie…what have they done to my baby?" There was rage and grief and pain all present in her eyes and the emotions were battling for positions.

Her eyes were locked on Fenton, begging, ordering, him to answer her, but it was Joe who answered.

"They raped him mom…_he's _raping him…."


	24. With in Reach

**With in Reach**

Joe was pouting. There was no other word for it, he sat, arms hugging himself, wrapped inside his own grief. As soon as he had spoken he had be bombarded with questions, but he was not in the mood to answer. Still in a state of shock from resent events and still groggy, Joe was just not ready to face what had happened yet.

He had woken up to his parents fighting and watched as his mother's resolve had broken and his father had gone to comfort her. He had listened quietly to the conversation between his parents and the officers, not daring to alert anyone to his presence until he heard the terror, the pleading in his mother's voice. Knowing that his father and the officers would try to protect her, try to sugar coat the truth so that Laura wouldn't lose complete control, he decide to speak up. It wasn't fair to lie to Laura, to make her find out latter then sooner. So he just said it, he just said what he felt.

Looking back, he probably should have stayed quit.

As soon as he opened is mouth the FBI guys wanted to talk to him, and his father and Ezra were no better. They just were a little better about it, not so much demanding answers but coxing them. Joe, though, had to make things difficult, well really it was his mind.

Rape…could he really say that his brother was rapped? He didn't witness his brother being raped. He didn't even really see them lay a hand on his brother…so could he really say that his brother was being raped? Yes.

It was the one thing Joe knew never to fight, his gut, and his gut said that they had hurt his brother. That they had violated his brother and the pictures and the way the man spoke…that was all Joe needed. So where did that leave him?

No where.

Here he was safe and sound, untouched, unharmed with his parents, and Frank was in the hands of a pedophile having God knows what done to him. Here he was sitting comfortably after failing his brother. How stupid could he have been? How hard, when you've been trained in observation all your life, could it be to tell if someone is a live or dead? How could he have been so stupid, so careless as to lose control of his emotions thus losing all reasoning ability and common sense? He had his chance to save Frank, to bring his brother home and he failed!

He was a miserable failure. He didn't deserve to be here. Frank didn't deserve what was being dome to him, he did…couldn't even tell if his own brother was alive or not! His own brother! He failed him!

And so on went the self abuse.

Laura, still slightly shocked from what Joe had said was not so out of it to see the battle in Joe's mind. After several attempts to get Joe to talk failed she shooed everyone, even Fenton out of the room, leaving her alone to comfort her son.

"Joey? Joseph, look at me," Laura said sitting down next to Joe. "Stop your pouting and look at me, I'll have no more of your attitude young man," she said as if to a four year old who was refusing to take a much needed nap.

Slowly Joe turned his head up to Laura, blue eyes meeting blue eyes. "You know Joe, you're never to old, to strong, or to tough to cry in front of your mother," Laura said softly stroking Joe's hair. And cry is exactly what Joe Hardy did.

* * *

The doctor had come in again to check on Joe and had given him another sedative. Laura and Fenton had sat with him until Ezra had persuaded both parents to go and get some rest, which was no easy feat and evolved several threats of sedatives and restricted access from the doctors.

In there place sat Dr. Marshal, who gave a weary smile to a slowly waking Joe. "Welcome back to the land of the living," she said as Joe's eyes focused on her.

"How long…." Joe groaned in response.

"About ten hours, forty five minuets and ten…wait fourteen seconds. But who's counting?"

Joe ignored Marshal's attempt at a joke and looked around the room, when he found no sign of his parents his hart began to speed up, partly out of fear and partly out of hope, but he was careful to hide booth emotions from Marshal. "Where did my parents go?"

"I think the doctor said something about sedating them if they didn't go get some rest, especially your father," Marshal said, noting the slightly down hearten look on Joe's face when she told him. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," Joe said quickly, "I just…"

"Just hoped there was a break in the case?"

Joe's eyes flashed her an angry glare, though he wasn't really sure why. The closest reason he could think of was that he wanted to be alone. He wanted time let his mind abuse him some more and the fact that she could read his thoughts was way to close for comfort. The only persons he allowed to do that ever were Iola and Frank.

Marshal just sat back and smiled, legs crossed and hands folded over her stomach. "No Joe, there's no smoking gun. But let me get you updated on what we've learned. You know about the pictures, well your father discovered everyone's favorite teacher, Mr. Chessman's reflection in one of them and that's when we learned that Chessman is really Agent Rockton, an FBI undercover agent. The FBI has been investigating the people who took your brother for a really long time. They've even come up with a suspect, a Cole Winchester, who had a run in with your dad way back when. Then you went missing, and you know what happened after that. You got away, we came and got you, and you gave us the pictures. By the way, we found the place that they had originally taken you and analyzed that as well as the pictures. Care to know what we found?"

"Hell yes," Joe said before he could help himself, causing Marshal to laugh. "What did you find? Anything that could lead to Frank?"

"Well, we confirmed that this is an organization. There were at least ten men there and four other boys. They're tracing the treads they found, although we're pretty sure they're stolen. The pictures gave us more though. We have a location!"

Joe couldn't believe what he heard. He was in shock, had Marshal really just say they had a location? "You know where Frank is?" he asked in a whisper.

"Well, kind of. Rockton noticed a trend in the pictures and with a lot of help from the lab boys pieced together a location. It's a privet place on Bayport Beach. Already they're getting the papers and a team together. They're planning for a night raid…"

"That's great! They're going to get Frank!"

Marshal's smile was gone, and she was all doctor now. "Joe, Joe just calm down. There's one thing that's holding it all up."

"What? A judge won't sign the warrant? They don't have an address? What?"

"Nothing like that."

"Then what is it?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You are the only one who's had contact with Winchester outside of a 'buyer.' You're the only one who can tell us if it's safe to go ahead."

"What? Of course it is! Just go in and get Frank and bring him back!"

Marshal silenced Joe with a wave of her hand and leaned towards him. "It's not that easy Joe. There are a lot of things to consider. Winchester is already unstable; he photographs children for God's sake! But how do we know if he's just a sick bustard or a sick freak? If he's a sick freak, what are we going to be facing in there? Will he have armed men? Will he have bobby-traps? Will he kill Frank before we can get to him?"

There was a silence in the room; an oppressive silence that seemed to weigh heavy on Joe. He stared straight ahead, eyes burning holes into the wall. "What do you need me to do?" he finally asked after what seemed like forever.

"I need you to tell me what happened. When the guy took you, what did he do?" There was another silence, and Marshal could clearly see the battle of emotions on Joe's face. "Joe whatever he did, it wasn't your fault…."

"Yes it was!" Joe shouted, no longer able to keep his emotions inside. "I got the chance to save Frank! I could have brought Frank home but I couldn't even do one little thing right! I couldn't even do one thing!"

"What Joe? What couldn't you do?"

"Play his game…I couldn't beat him at his own game."

"And what was his game Joe? What was the game?"

"I had to guess if Frank was alive or dead. And I couldn't even guess…I couldn't even tell if my own brother was alive or not!"

There was more silence as Marshal let Joe gain control of himself. Inside her blood was boiling. She didn't even know Frank Hardy, and she barely knew this family, but what this man was doing to them…she wanted him. For all the pain he was causing and had already caused she wanted him…and for the first time, in recent memory, she wanted the death penalty.

"Joe, this is going to sound so old…Joe, it's going to be hard for you, and I know that you're dealing with a whole range of emotions, but I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me what happened," there was no response. "Look, you feel guilty because of some fucked up head game that a psycho forced you to play, you feel that you're responsible. But you weren't the one who approached Frank! You weren't the one who mixed up Frank's head and turn him against everyone who ever cared about him. You didn't take him away! Hell, Frank could have told your father that someone was fucking with him, but he didn't! Joe, none of this is your fault, none of it! But I swear if you don't tell me what happened and something goes wrong on the raid, then you're going to feel a hell of a lot worse then you are now!"

Joe stared at the wall, his body tense and shaking. Slowly Marshal's worlds sank in. And after minuets of self battling he finally spoke up. Marshal let out a breath that she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"His game was simple, he said I had three minuets to tell him if Frank was a live or dead. I couldn't tell…" the guilt in that sentence made Marshal swallow hard. "He laughed at me…"

"Did he say anything?"

"Yeah... something like "I'm going to take Frankie back with me and he's mine now. You'll never get him back."

"What did he sound like? Was he angry, tired, gloating…?"

"He was angry, he seemed upset that I failed. Like he was hurt or something…but at the same-time gloating…."

"A split response."

"Yeah….what does that mean?"

"It means he's crazy."

"Nah? He's crazy? What was your first clue?"

Marshal smiled, she liked this kid's spunk. "It means that, well I don't know for sure but from what I do know, this guy thinks he's the only person who cares about Frank. And that you couldn't tell if he was alive or not caused two emotions in him. One hurt, because he in a sick way loves Frank and he knew that it would hurt Frank. But he was happy, gloating, because he had just proven himself right in his mind."

"That's sick…that's twisted….so very, very twisted…where does it leave Frank?"

"Well, now, Frank's with in our reach."

* * *

So so very sorry about the wait, but life kind of got crazzy...very very insanely crazzy. And this chap's kind of boring...but hey, Frank's in the next one (i think). So i hope you enjoyed, and please reviwe. 


	25. Waiting

**Waiting**

Sir woke in an almost blissful haze, feeling very proud of himself. It was late morning and outside it was gray. Sighing the man propped himself on one elbow and leaned over the boy sleeping next to him.

When he had first laid eyes on the boy, he knew he had to have him. Brown hair, brown eyes, bronze skin, intelligent, charming and mannered…he was all to perfect. The only problem was that he was to damn close to his family and friends. To responsible, to mature; it would be hard to get him. But where there's a will there's away.

All it took was following the boy day after day, and making the move when the time was right. His patience had paid off sooner then he thought when the brothers had a fight one day after school. He had waited in the shadows while the blond haired accused his brother of attempting to mother him or something and the two had words. The boy had thrown the keys to their van in his brother's face and walked off.

Sir had caught up with him at the library and that was how everything began. Teenagers are always the easiest to control especially when they're upset. But still, this one, this boy, was hard. Even though sir had used all of his tricks, and pushed every button that he knew of, even taking him away from his family, Sir wasn't convinced he had total control over him. Yet.

The boy sighed and stirred slightly, unconsciously straining against the ropes around his wriest. Since he had arrived the boy's brown hair had grown out, curling softly at the ends, he had lost some of the baby fat that he had and was defiantly more lean muscle, and the bronze skin he had, had lightened. All this didn't make him look any older though, it only made him look younger, more like fourteen then sixteen. Sir liked it.

Gently Sir brushed the hair out of the boy's face, stroking his knuckles lightly down his cheek. The boy's eyes fluttered and so brown eyes were peering up into his.

"Well hello there, I was going to let you sleep, but if you're awake…" Sir's hand traveled down the line of the boy's body until it came to rest on his thigh. The boy made no move to resist or even to speak, he had learned this lesson well his first week here, and however his brown eyes spoke volumes.

Sir gave him a small, fatherly smile, one that the boy had grown to hate, and leaned in. Still the only movement the boy made was a gulp, trying to keep the bile at bay. A brush of lips and the boy new what was coming. He closed his eyes and imagined himself very far away.

* * *

"So you mean that we're close to getting Frank back? Like how close?" Joe asked, almost afraid to hope. 

"Like sharing the mashed potatoes close," Marshal answered. Normally she wouldn't be this reassuring when it came to kidnapping cases, but she couldn't help it looking at Joe. She just couldn't help it.

"Nah, he won't be home that soon," Joe said with a rueful smile, "getting him away from kidnappers is one thing, getting him away from doctors…."

Marshal laughed, "I should know. It took my husband three months to convince them that he was alright," and then a little voice in Marshal's head whispered something to her and she frowned. "Joe, you know that Frank may not be the same? Hell, he's most defiantly not going to be the same."

Joe frowned, did he know that? Of course he knew that! But did he _know _that? Then his words came back _"They raped him mom…he's raping him…." _Joe was silent for awhile as he thought about it.

"He's not going to be the same, but he's still going to be Frank," Joe said softly.

"Keep telling yourself that. That's what you need to remember. Joe, it's going to be hard, I can't tell you what to expect. I can tell you what the text books say, but when have they ever applied to life? You'll just have to love him, forgive him, and except him."

"Just like always?" Joe said, trying desperately to make a joke. But nothing was funny. Joe would get no answers about Frank until he was safe. So he would have to wait. Joe couldn't wait.

* * *

As Marshal exited Joe's room, Smith was waiting for her. "How is he?" he asked, honest concern in his voice, and Marshal gave him a wry smile. 

"He's going through hell. He's a tough kid, and he did good despite everything…" she said.

"We've got a tact briefing at the station. They don't want to wait anymore, Joe's abduction and his statement's shaken everybody."

"Tell me about it," Marshal shivered. "We better not keep them waiting."

It took the two doctors twenty minuets to reach the station and another five before they found the squad room. Inside Marshal was happy to see Con Riley standing by the door. His arm was in a sling, his head bandaged and buried, but he gave them a small smile.

"Hello doctor," he greeted quietly as the FBI men, Ezra, Fenton, and the head of SWAT, talked amongst themselves.

"Hello officer," she said returning the smile and forcing herself to not hug him, he was probably to sore for one. "Standing are we?"

"Barely, got a few knocked ribs and a head ach, but I'll live. How's Joe? Fenton said they had him back, that he got away?"

"He's shaken, but he's not hurt…" Marshal was interrupted by Roy's voice.

"'Bout time you two got here. If the world was ending, doctors would make you wait," he said with a tired smile. It was a joke, but it was a vain attempt, everyone was to tense.

"It's alright Roy, Joe talked to Marshal, we can start the briefing," Smith said reassuringly. Instantly the tension in the room shrank.

* * *

The boy sat with his head on his knees, huddled close together. He was still on the bed where he had been since returning last night from the 'photo-shoot'. Sir had left a little after he had finished with him. His only constellation now was that he was no longer bound and he had jeans on. 

He shivered slightly in the stale air of the room and looked around. His right arm throbbed mercilessly and he robbed it absent mindedly. For that last month he had played at being meek, weak and submissive. But there was a streak in him that wouldn't allow the play to become reality. At first he really had been to sick to fight off what Sir did to him and that had allowed him the time he needed to think.

And think he did. He thought about his brother, he thought about his father, his mother and his friends and his girlfriend. And he cursed himself for ever doubting them and for ever giving what Sir said any thought. Now all he wanted to do was get away. And today was the day.

Sir was leaving for a different 'photo-shoot'. A big one as far as he knew and so he was taking a lot of his men with him. There'd be a skeleton crew left to guard the house. He was being left here because Sir didn't want to 'over use him.'

The boy pushed the thoughts out of his mind, and swallowed. 'Concentrate on escape, concentrate on your plan,' he told himself.

His plan was simple, sneak out of the room, down the back stairs to the kitchen and out the door. Make it to the cover of the trees about twenty feet from the house and just run until he got to the road. Stick to the tree line and pray he'd spot a car.

He didn't have to worry to much about the first part of his plan, lately he had been allowed to go to the kitchen by himself, but he didn't want to risk being seen, so he sat there crouched and waited.

In ten minuets it would be time for the shift change, and that would give him five minuets to get out of the house without being seen. Five minuets with nobody watching the cameras and nobody in the backyard. He just had to wait.

He hated waiting.


	26. Missed

**Missed**

The briefing was long and tedious. They wanted to be thorough and so they had covered everything. They started by FBI briefing everyone on their case, and then Ezra took over and explained how the case had come to Bayport's attention. Next the two doctors set up the profile of Winchester and his operation making sure to explain about Winchester's pass encounter with the Hardy family and his new ones. Finally it was SWAT turn. They handled the tactics part of the meeting and explained what would be happening.

It took them two hours to get through everything and by the time they were done everyone in the room was mentally dull. The case had been reviewed and briefed to death, and the SWAT's plans had been torn apart and put back together more times then a Lego set. While everyone wanted to stop Winchester but there were very few complaints when they were allowed to break. They would be leaving in an hour and it was just enough time to eat, suit up and call someone.

Fenton, Ezra, Con, and Marshal would not be going with them. Fenton and Ezra were to close to the whole thing while Con was to injured and Marshal felt that she wasn't needed. They would head over to the Hardy's home. That was where Laura and Joe were and they would wait for news there.

It was going to be a long wait.

* * *

The house that the intelligence had all pointed to was an old secluded farm. Wide open lands, no neighbors close by and a huge house and barn to house people in. The perfect place for Winchester to set up his operation. And an operation was defiantly what they found. They caught Winchester and his gang red handed.

There was pandemonium all around as SWAT busted through the door. Men ran everywhere, trying to stop the approaching police and FBI, trying to move the boys as fast as they could and trying to destroy the evidence. They weren't very successful. Thanks to the two hours of briefing the team had a perfect plan and in a matter of twenty minuets the whole situation was under control.

An echo of "All clear" rang through out the building and soon the officers were busy sorting out the mess they'd made.

It was sometime latter that they realized Winchester wasn't among the suspects. Nor was Frank among the victims.

* * *

He'd fallen asleep, how the hell could he have fallen asleep? His one chance to escape and it was almost called on the count of sleep! Now he would have to wait another three hours before he could try. And he didn't even know when Sir was coming back. Damn it!

How could he have been so stupid? It doesn't matter, not now. He could still make it. He just had to wait a little longer, and now that he was rested he'd be able to last longer outside. Besides, he still needed to get dressed. Running around in the middle of November with noting but jeans on wouldn't help.

He sighed, pulling himself off the bed and moved for the dresser. He knew that Sir kept extra sweat shirts in there as well as socks and he figured they were as good as any other.

Opening the first drawer he was relived to find what he was looking for and thankfully slipped it on.

He was basking in the warmth and comfort that the shirt provide when the door to the room busted open.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!"


	27. Scream

**Scream**

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the voice boomed from the doorway.

Frank spun around to face it, fear shinning in his brown eyes. Standing in the doorway was Sir, and he was clearly pissed.

"I asked you a question! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sir said dangerously as he approached Frank. All Frank could do was back away, into the dresser. He was too scared to speak, to scared to move, to scared to think. "Answer me!" Sir barked now right in front of Frank. Still though, he was too scared.

His silence earned him a back hand across his face that landed him on the floor. He didn't stay there long as he was roughly pulled to his feet and dragged him over to the bed. He practically through Frank onto the bed and climbed on top of him.

"Sense you won't speak, I guess I'll make you scream," he whispered harshly as he pinned Frank's arms above his head. He pulled the sweat shirt that Frank was wearing up so that it left his chest exposed but covered his head and basically bond his arms. He then set about removing Frank's pants and undoing his own fly.

Frank bit his lip when he felt Sir's hands on his lower body to keep from calling out. Even though he couldn't see, Sir's movement's left no doubt in his mind what was going to happen. The shirt that covered his face was pulled up slightly, freeing Frank's mouth, and Sir forced his tongue in.

Frank was helpless. He was pinned under the weight of a man nearly twice his size and who had his hands groping him. If he did anything that wasn't what Sir wanted or expected, he would pay for it. All he could do was close his eyes and force his mind to go some place else. But even that was made impossible.

When Sir had pulled his mouth away from Frank's he pulled himself off the boy and reached over to his nightstand where he kept a stunner. He ran a hand along Frank's inner thigh before he pressed the stunner against the skin close to his groin.

Frank screamed.

It was an anxious Fenton that answered the phone. He was seated in the living room along with Ezra, Con, Marshal, Joe, Laura and Gertrude. The seven had spent the last four hours in self-observed silence, each thinking about Frank and waiting for that damn call.

"Hardy residence, Fenton speaking," he said automatically, looking around at those gathered. "Hello Rockton, what…uh-huh…I see…alright…yes, thank you," Fenton said, the disappointment clear in his voice. He hung up the phone slowly and sighed. He took a moment to gather himself before he turned around to face the others.

Each of their faces were masks of hope and fear. He took time to study each before for settling on Joe's face. Those blue eyes that showed everything the youth was feeling and left nothing hidden. How the hell was he suppose to tell him? As honestly as possible, was the only answer he could think of.

With a deep breath he said "Frank wasn't there and Winchester was gone."

There was nothing that greeted him but a wall of silence. A shocked wall of silence; that was all they could manage when all they really wanted to do was scream.

Sory that it took so long, and that it's so short. It's nearing the end and as with all my stories when that happens i kind of hit writter's block. But don't worry, i'll have more written soon. And until then, you could always read one of my other fics.

rabies,

ty.


	28. Got Him

**Got Him**

"We were so close! SO GOD DAMN CLOSE!" Joe yelled, slamming his fist into the glove department of Biff's car. As soon as his dad had told them the news Joe had left. He had to get out and away from them. He had to run as fast and as far as he could. H had made it to the park before wondering for an hour. As the sun had started to set he had called Biff.

Biff didn't know what to say, so he just drove and listened to Joe as he vented.

"They found half his operation! About twenty missing boys and he was there! Winchester was there! They had him! And they let him get away! They let him get away……" Joe was close to breaking down.

Biff couldn't blame him ether. With everything that had happened to him in the last few months, hell the last forty eight hours, he had the right. Biff just whished there was something that he could do, that he could say to help his friend. But nothing came to mind. There were only two people that Biff knew who could calm Joe when he was like this, one was missing and the other……

"Why don't I take you to see Iola?"

- line -

Fenton sat staring into space. Here he was, the world's greatest detective, and he couldn't even find his own son. Hell, he couldn't even tell when his son needed him. What kind of father did tat make him?

He'd always thought that he and his boys were close. He had never missed a birthday, he rarely missed a baseball game, a football game, a soccer game, or since fair, and when he did he always called to see how it went. He had taken them fishing, hiking, bike riding, rock climbing, everything that he had missed out with his own father. He had, until now, never accused, never assumed until he had listened to them. He had been their friend and father; he had been a good father. So why did he miss it? Why didn't he see that his son needed him?

"Fenton," Laura said from the living room entrance way. "Mrs. Morton called, Joe's over there. Biff took him…Are you alright?"

"No, Laura, I'm not."

- line -

Rockton was pissed. How could they have screwed up so bad? They totally missed Winchester, how they hell could they have done that when he was right there? And Frank, where was Frank?

He stood, leaning against a window that looked into the interrogation room. Inside was a man named Cole. Cole was the right hand guy. Next to Winchester he knew everything that went on in the organization. He was also well known for turning on people. Which was good news for the police, if there was anyone they wanted to flip, it was this guy.

"You ready?" Allen asked, putting his hand on Rockton's shoulder.

Rockton looked up to see the rest of his team standing by, blank looks on their face. For the last few years Rockton had been so deep undercover that he couldn't tell which way was up. He was the youngest of the team and he had, had felt like he had the most to prove. So when they asked him if they could burry him, he had let them.

He had lived his life afraid of everything and everyone, never knowing who he could trust, except for these guys. They had been his life line, his one connection to his real life. They reminded him to call his mother on her birthday or to whish his sis good luck on some collage examine. He had asked so much of them and they had given so much willingly, and he just needed to ask one more thing.

"Let me go alone, just for the first few minuets. He sees me and he knows it's over. He's got a rep for flipping, he sees me and he'll flip."

Allen looked over his shoulder at Downs, Miller, and Smith. Downs and Miller's faces stayed blank, but they nodded their agreement. Rockton knew these bastards, he knew what would work. If he said he could get this guy to flip, he could. Besides he's earned a little one on one.

Smith however took a little longer to decide. He studied Rockton; saw the stress, the anger and the tension, all carefully hidden under a calm surface. "Rockton, a half hour that's it then I take over," Smith said.

Rockton nodded and made his way into the interview room.

Allen looked at his long time friend, a question on his face.

"What I really wanted to say was no, you can't go in there. But he's been so close to these monsters for so long and he was so close to a lot of the victims, he needs to face at least one of them. He needs to feel that he at least helped get Winchester. It'll make therapy go so much easier for him," Smith answered.

- line -

Rockton shut the door softly. The man sitting in the chair looked at him, the confidence he had been feeling earlier wavered slightly.

"Hello Cole," Rockton said tonelessly.

"What the hell…Chessman?" the man started.

"Cole Marks, born April 1, 1970. To bad you weren't an April Fools prank," Rockton went on, flipping through a folder he held in his hand. "Arrested for robbery, buglers, assaults and battery, breaking and entering; all before you were twenty five. You went to prison, met Winchester, got out and started kidnapping kids for a porno ring. Helped to rape them too," Winchester said letting the disgust seep into his voice. "So tell me, you going to take the fall for Winchester too? The sex that good?"

Rockton tossed the file down onto the interview table and took a seat across from the man.

"I aunt his bitch. I didn't do nothing," Cole said eyeing Rockton. "Besides Chessman, you bought those pictures…."

"The name's Rockton, Special Agent Rockton FBI. And I never said anything about pictures," he said icy.

Cole's face paled and he looked at Rockton. The man had, had him since he walked in and he knew it. "I want a lawyer," he said.

"I'm sure you do, and that's a good idea, but it won't help you. You're hung."

"'Aunt you suppose to shut up when I say lawyer?" Cole snapped, he's nerves growing.

Rockton laughed, a cold sound, causing Cole to flinch. "I'm suppose to stop asking you questions. That doesn't mean I have to shut up, and since you don't have the right to be def, only dumb, you're stuck."

Cole glared at Rockton and leaned back, but said nothing.

"Anyways, I don't even need your statement. We got you red handed, and with my testimony, you're screwed. It'll only be a matter of time before we get Winchester," at the look of surprise on Cole's face Rockton smirked. "Yeah, that's right I know your bosses real name. Not this Simon crap he's been passing off. But ya know, I wonder what he'd think if I told him you slipped up? All I have to do is drop your name a few times, you know, 'If it weren't for Cole, we'd never have got him.' 'So glad we had a mole in there, made my cover so much easier.'"

"You…"

"Uh huh, don't say anything. Wait for you lawyer," Rockton interrupted. He waited a few minuets before he continued his monolog. "You know, it's a shame. We could have made you a deal, sent you to a max security where you're confined to a cell twenty three hours and guarded. But some bleeding hart judge is going to send you to a semi-max or something like that. You'll be in the general population. It be a shame if they knew what you were in for…a guy died at county for just touching a kid."

"I didn't…"

"Wait for your lawyer!" Rockton interrupted again and continued. "Yeah, it'll be hell for you if the figured it out. And then if word spread that you're a snitch…you'll never make it a month. But if that boy dies it won't matter. You'll be on death row anyway. Sooner or latter, you'll be dead."

Cole paled yet again, "Wh…what boy?"

Rockton stood, "What boy, what boy" he repeated shaking his head. He pulled a picture from his back pocket and slammed it on the table in front of Cole. "This boy! Frank Hardy, 16. Junior at Bayport High. Eldest son of Fenton and Laura Hardy, older bother of Joseph Hardy. His girl friend is a 16 year old named Callie Shaw……What!" Rockton snapped noticing that Cole was now nearly transparent.

"H…Hardy…?" he asked quivering.

"Yeah, Hardy. Fenton Hardy's son. Didn't you know? Wait don't answer that, your lawyer isn't here." Rockton growled. "They're going to fry you, you know that? If this kid dies there'll be nothing keeping you out of death row. Doesn't matter if you killed him or not. We'll find some way to get it pinned on you. And while you're waiting for the needle, we'll spread the word about what you did, we'll tell them you're a snitch," Rockton hissed watching Cole carefully.

He was close, Cole was so close to breaking. He had him, just a little more.

Rockton softened his tone, he spoke now as if he were at a funeral. "You know it's a shame. You put your ass out there for him, you do all his dirty work and he leaves you holding the bag. And you can't even help yourself. You called for a lawyer…I bet he told you to do that. Call for a lawyer if you get caught, give him time to get away, let you hang……"

"Fuck the lawyer!" Cole exclaimed. "Fuck the damn lawyer, I'll talk! I'll talk!"

"You're waving your right to council? You're willing to talk to us with out a lawyer?"

"Hell yes! I'll talk! Screw the damn lawyer! I 'aint going to die 'cause of him!"

Rockton smiled, he got him.


	29. To Have and to Hold

**To Have and to Hold**

If there was one thing Iola knew what it took to get Joe Hardy calm. As soon as she saw Biff pulling into the driveway she knew what was going on. She had gotten her mother to call the Hardys and tell them that Joe was safe, and then gotten Chet's permission to let Joe use his ATV. She was ready to go before Biff had even knocked on the door.

A night ride through the Morton's back filed was exactly what Joe needed. Something physical to do, something dangerous, and something exciting. They raced each other for hours until they ran out of the gas about a half a mile from the house and they were forced to walk back to.

"Talk to me Joe," Iola said as they started their hike, pushing the heavy machines along the path.

"About what?" Joe said.

"Anything, I just want to focus on something other then the hunk of metal threatening to pull my arms out," Iola answered. Careful not to push, not to corner or prob. Joe would tell her when ready all she had to do was leave the opening.

There was silence for awhile as Joe thought about what h wanted to say. He had no doubt of Iola's intentions, getting him out here. He had no doubt what she wanted him to talk about. IT was the same thing that everyone wanted him to talk about, the same thing that they wanted him to say. 'Talking about it makes it better,' 'It hurts less if you talk about it,' and all that crap. Iola was basically telling him the same thing, except she was doing it on Joe's terms. She was giving Joe room and he knew she wouldn't push him, he swore she'd learned it from Frank. That they must have had a 'how to talk to Joe' class or something. But right now he was grateful beyond words that she had.

"Iola…I don't know if I want to talk about it. I know that I have too, but…"

"Wanting to and having to are very different things," she finished for him. "I don't want to talk about anything that you don't want too. I just want to help you."

"I know, and thank you isn't enough," Joe said hushed.

"Yup, you owe me at least three kisses, maybe four," she teased him, and flashed him one of her smiles that shone even in the dark.

She was rewarded with a hushed laugh and one of Joe's own smiles before it faded into a frown. "What if he's dead Iola? What if he's been dead for the entire time? Or what if he's so far gone that he might as well be dead? And what if we get him back, but he rejects us? What if…what if we can't help him, and in the end nobody can save him?"

Iola could hear the fear and pain in Joe's voice and it made tears come to her eyes but she brushed them away. "He's alive Joe; you of all people know that. In fact, I think you're the only one who's never stopped believing that. And if Frank is in some dark place that nobody can get to, then you'll be the only one who can. You're the only one who hasn't given up on him, and I don't think you ever will. Chet and I are close for siblings, I don't think we have ever had a serious fight between us, but we're nothing compared to you and Frank. I've seen him take beating for you, and you take on guys twice your size. I doubt that you won't be able to get him back," Iola said sincerely.

"But Iola, they…what he's done to him. What he's made Frank do! First he made Frank attack me, then he made Frank…" Joe trailed off.

Iola stopped and looked at Joe, who was looking into some realm of Hell that she couldn't picture. "What Joe? What did he make Frank do?"

Joe looked at her, more anger, pain, and guilt in his eyes then and soul should suffer and when he spoke it was with such raw emotions that it made her cry. He told her about the pictures and what the 'game' that he had to play, and of what he knew to be true. And as she held him while he cried he managed to choke out, "How could I have failed him? How could I have failed him so many times?"

And there was no answer that Iola could give him to take the hurt away, to ease his pain. All she could do was comfort him and remind him that she was there and she wasn't going anywhere.

**- line -**

They had a confession. They had an address. They had a warrant. They had a SWAT team. They had a plan. They were on their way.

They hadn't called the Hardys just in case. Just in case Cole lied. Just in case he wasn't there. Just in case….

They were on their way. They were coming. They were so close. Just a little longer. Just a little more. And each man praying, 'just hang on. Just be there. Just be alive.'

**- line -**

Frank could hear him in the bathroom, moving about. He had just gotten out of the shower and he could hear him starting to run water for a bath. Like every time.

Like every time afterwards he was in pain. Like every time afterwards he was filthy. Like every time afterwards he was broken, used and numb. Like every time afterwards he was ready to die.

But he never did. That wasn't a part of the plan, that wasn't what he was being used for.

Sir came out of the bathroom, a bathrobe on, and walked over to him. He scoped the boy up into his arms and carried him carefully to the tub. He set him in equally as careful and let the water work its magic.

The boy hissed as the hot water came in contact with his abused flesh, but after awhile it began to melt away the pain and coax him into daze. He didn't notice the hands that went about bathing him, or the soft brush of lips on his neck and mouth. He let the water clean him. He let the water rock him. He let it ease his fears and pain. If only for a little while.

When he was done, Sir pulled him from the tub and dried him before carrying him back to the bed. He laid him down and before dressing him again, he rubbed burn cream on the newly marked flesh. The pajama pants were soft and made of silk. They wouldn't stick to the burns or aggravate them, but they would still keep him warm. He even got to have his own cotton robe to add to his warmth.

Sir went over to the nightstand and pulled something out of one of the draws. He then made him open his mouth and for one horrifying moment the boy thought he was going to use the stunner again, but Sir just shoved a hand full of pills into his mouth. And soon, nothing mattered anymore.

**- line -**

The explosion from down below was completely unexpected. It caught him completely off guard and he had no time to react. There were two many police, to many guns, pointed at him. This time there was no where to run, no where to go and no one to save him. He was caught and he was screwed.

A blur of a man appeared in front of him, and his senses were to frazzled to focus on him. All he understood was what the blur was barking at him…

"Where's the boy! Where's Frank Hardy!"

And all he managed to say was "Upstairs," and then the blur was gone. And he was hand cuffed and he was done.

**- line -**

Rockton raced up the stairs, taking them three at a time. The man down stairs, Winchester, was drunk and of little good to the agent. All he could tell him was upstairs which did little to help when there were about twenty different rooms that needed to be cleared.

He could hear Allen calling for him to wait, to let the SWAT guys clear it first, and part of him knew he was right, but he didn't care.

Rockton had been put undercover as a teacher in Bayport High School cause that was the best cover. They knew that Winchester was in Bayport and they knew he picked teenagers. And how many teachers had turned out to be predators? But Rockton would never have guesses how quickly you could become attached to a bunch of kids. Or how much he liked being a teacher. Nor could he ever imagined that it would have been one of his students, one of the kids in his class that Winchester would grab.

Cole had told them how obsessed the man had become with the Hardy Boys, especially the oldest, the one he perceived as the better of the two. How he had been sent to make contact with Frank to see if Frank was really worthy of taking. How it had been his approval that had made up Winchester's mind. But it was Winchester who took him, and it was Winchester who kept him. It was Winchester who had him.

And he be damned if he let Winchester keep him.

He made it to the first room and was out of breath. He held his gun ready, and pushed it open to find nothing. So he moved on, again to find nothing. By the third room he was starting to get discouraged, but there were still two doors to go and he wasn't going to give up.

The fourth room was the jack pot. There was the object of his desire, sleeping on the bed. After making sure the room and bathroom were clean, Rockton cautiously made his way over to the sleeping boy so as not to scare him.

"Frank…" he said softly, friendly, praying he didn't sound like the pervert downstairs. "Frank can you hear me?" he said. But there was no answer. Rockton's hart was in his throat as he shakes the boy slightly. "Frank, wake up son. We're here to take you home."

Still no reply and Rockton started to grow frantic. He felt for a pulse and was relived to find one, but the fact that Frank wasn't waking up made the relief short lived. He slapped Frank's face slightly, and called again, but still nothing.

His name was called from down the hall and Rockton automatically replied, "In here, the fourth room! All clear!"

Allen came racing in, followed by Smith Downs, and Miller. The reprimand that was on the tip of Allen's tongue was forgotten back as soon as he saw the boy. "Is he alive?" he asked, afraid of the answer.

"Yeah, but he's not waking up. I think you better get a look at him Smith…" was Rockton's reply and he moved away from the bed to allow Smith access.

Smith examined Frank briefly, before looking at the others grim faced. "I'm only a PHD, but I think he's been drugged. He needs his stomach pumped like now."

That was all that needed to be said. It took them only minuets to get the EMS up there and to get him on his way to the ER.


	30. Good News?

**Good News?**

Iola and Joe made it back to the Morton's home nearly exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Joe had told Iola everything that had been weighing on him the last few months and she had listened. She had told him not what he wanted to hear but the truth, that there were no clear answers and all he had to rely on was his faith in his brother. It must have been exactly what Joe needed to hear because he no longer felt consumed by the what ifs and the maybes.

They parked their ATVs in the backyard near the barn booth shivering from the cold that had settled into the November night and made their way to the Morton home. The smell of freshly made bread. They made it only to the porch before Chet and Biff came out the back door.

"We were just coming to get you two!" Chet called, a hint of urgency and excitement in his voice.

"Joe, your mom called! They're sending someone to come and get you!" Biff jumped in his voice matching Chet's. "They found him Joe! They found Frank!"

**- line -**

"_What's his condition?"_

"_Sixteen yea old male found unconscious after being abducted about a month ago. He was unresponsive and a bottle of pills were found next to him. Unknown as to how many he took."_

"_Doctor he's awake!"_

"_What's his name?"_

"_Frank!"_

"_Frank, can you hear me? I'm Dr. Simon, you're in the ER, can you hear me? Can you talk to me?"_

"_Doc, we're losing him, his passing out."_

"_Frank, stay with me bud, that's it… nurse I want to pump his stomach… Frank, you've been drugged, now I need you to stay awake ok?"_

Frank stared up at the man who was leaning over him, and though he could hear what was being said he couldn't understand. He was too tired, and so he shut his eyes and went back to sleep.

**- line -**

Laura and Fenton sat in a privet waiting room, one that was reserved for the families of victims. They were joined by Gertrud, Ezra, Con, Rockton, and Allen. They had all been brought up to speed about the raid and how they had found Frank. And right now that was all they had.

Marshal had called a few minuets ago to let them know that she and Joe were on their way to the hospitals and that the Mortons wanted to know the minuet that the Hardy's needed something. There was no word from the doctors on the condition of their son. No nurse to come and reassure them, nothing. All they could do was let their imaginations run wild and wait.

A half hour went by and Joe and Marshal joined them. Another half hour, and still no word. The room was tense and silent, each person fidgeting nervously and looking around. Another half hour and finally a doctor appeared.

"Is this the Hardy bunch?" the doctor asked with a tired smile. He was a youngish man with dirty blond hair and a day's growth. His scrubs were wrinkled and dark circles lined his eyes. He had all the trade mark signs of a resident.

"We're the Hardys," Fenton said standing up. Joe stood to and moved over next to his mother.

"Are you Frank's father?"

"Yes, this is my wife Laura, one of my son's, Joe, and my sister, Gertrud," he said pointing to each of his family.

The doctor gave Fenton a nod and then asked the other's in the room, "Are the rest of you police and such?" He was answered with grunts and nods from all around. "Is it alright if I talk to the family first then to you guys?"

"That's fine," Marshal said, a quick glance silencing any argument that the other may have had. Yes, it was important to know the condition that Frank was in, both for the investigation and their own mental health. But his family needed to know first.

The doctor gave her a smile, and then motioned for the Hardy's to join him outside. The family followed grim faced and nervous. Gertrud took hold of Joe's arm and gave it a quick squeeze to reassure her nephew who returned the favor. They stood together outside the waiting room, praying the doctor would give them good news.

"Sorry about all the wait and my abrupt manor, it's just your son gave us quit the run a round. My name's Joel Simon by the way, but just call me Joel if you'd like. Frank was brought in here unconscious, but he woke up for a few minuets before we pumped his stomach," he gave the family a reassuring smile when he saw the looks on their faces. "He's fine, he's doing just fine. Thankfully not much of the drugs he was given seeped their way into his blood so basically all he has to do is sleep it off."

"Oh thank God," Laura said, leaning into Fenton who wrapped his arms around her.

"Here's where it gets serious though," Joel said, the smile that had been on his face now turned into a frown as he looked in the family's eyes. "Frank was raped, he also has burns on his thigh and stomach. On top of that his right arm was broken and never healed properly. He needs reconstructive surgery on that arm. He's also dehydrated. We're given him fluids and as soon as he's awake we're going to start him on a liquid diet. Physical he's going to make a full recovery. As for his emotional state I don't know what to tell you. The best I can do is offer up a list of trauma therapists, but it's your call. I'm sorry," Joel finished as he saw the silent tears on all the Hardy's faces. This was obviously a very close and loving family, and to him that was the most important bit of information. People always tended to do better when the had their family.

"Thank you doctor," Fenton said formally, trying hard not to lose control, though his voice was gruff with the effort. He stood ridged with Laura pressed to his side. She was doing her best to keep her sobs silent and not break down like her husband. Joe, though upset, was not as surprised as the rest of the family. After all, hadn't he'd known since the moment he saw Frank under that overpass. He had his arms wrapped around his aunt who was crying softly, but her stubbornness wouldn't let it be known.

"When can we see him?" Fenton continued, massaging Laura's neck.

"I'll get a nurse to show you to his room, then come and talk to the police," Joel said and disappeared, leaving the Hardy's with their grief.


	31. Please Don't Cry

**Please Don't Cry**

Joe was sitting patiently by Frank's side. The police had been by to take pictures of his brother's injuries. His Aunt had left awhile ago to make sure that there would be plenty to eat at home knowing from past experience that the Hardy's needed meals on the go when one was in the hospital. Joel and nurses had been in and out, checking Frank's vitals and making sure that Joe and his parents didn't need anything. And through it all Joe hadn't moved from his brother's side. He hadn't let go of his brother's hand.

Now Fenton and Laura had gone to the cafeteria to get some food and to discus the surgery that would be needed for Frank's arm. They had wanted Joe to come with them, his mother had said that she would stay with Frank, but Joe had wanted to stay with Frank. He had lost him once and he wasn't about to let him out of his sight.

Joe stared at his brother, at the hollowed eyes, the pale skin, and thin form. The battered body and shaggy hair that covered his eyes. It was hard to believe that this was his brother, but it was true.

For the last month or so, Joe had been searching near desperately to find him and now that he was here, Joe was scared. What had Frank gone through? What had been done to him? He knew that he was raped, but would Frank let them help him? Would Frank even understand that he was safe, that they were here to help him?

His mind drifted back to the last day he had seen Frank and the fight…Was Frank lost to them?

Joe let out a frustrated sigh pushed the thoughts away. He could deal with all the 'what ifs' latter; right now the most important thing was getting Frank to wake up. If God had given little brother's one gift, it was the gift to wake up and annoy their older brothers, so Joe set about putting this gift into use.

"Alright Franklin Alex Hardy, you've slept long enough. It's Thanksgiving in a few hours and we still have to plan our football game…" Joe sighed at Frank's lack of response. "Alright, fine, don't wake up. I'll just keep talking…You know you've been gone for about a month. We don't know exactly what happened, but we have an idea…Frank I'm sorry that…I'm sorry that we didn't know, that we…" Joe took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly, "I'm sorry that it took us so long to find you and that he…for what he did. I'm sorry that I lost his game…I'm just sorry…" Joe sobbed, laying his head on the hospital bed. "Please Frank, wake up…" he cried, "Please, I'm sorry, please wake up…please Frank…"

Joe didn't know how long that he sat there crying, or exactly what he was mumbling. He just sat there, letting his emotions run their course when he felt a tug on his hand.

"Frank?" he chocked out, sitting up to look at his brother.

Frank's brown eyes were open just a slit and staring back up at him, they weren't focused completely, but they were looking at Joe. "Don't cry…" Frank whispered hoarsely, and Joe had to strain to hear what he said, "please don't cry…."

Joe's face broke into a huge smile and his eyes lit up, "Frank!"

Frank blinked once or twice trying to bring the world into focus. He was confused and disoriented; he had no idea where he was or why Joe was there. Had Sir taken Joe? Had Sir…

"Whoa…take it easy, it's alright Frank," Joe said, feeling his brother tense, "You're safe Frank, you're at the hospital…"

"Hospital?" Frank asked his eyes moving around, his voice still very strained. He swallowed and looked at Joe. "Joe? What…Joe…" Frank whimpered, his body starting to tremble.

Joe pulled his brother into a hug as Frank started to cry and held him. "It's ok Frank, you're safe now. please don't cry...we got you…I got you…."

**- line -**

Laura and Fenton were sitting at the cafeteria trying to force down something that resembled food. They had just gone over the surgery, which was set for the day after tomorrow and now trying to keep themselves together.

"We should take something up for Joe," Laura said staring at the food on her plate.

"I suggest going to the dinner across the street, their food isn't designed to keep you in the hospital," said Rockton as he approached the Hardy's table.

"Hello Agent," Fenton greeted as he pulled a chair out for the young man.

"Thank you, I'm just stopping by to say goodbye," Rockton said, taking the seat.

"Really? You boys aren't going to stick around for the trial?"

"I'll be back when it all starts, but most of the guys plead out so really their's only Winchesters. I need to get home though, see my family, my mom and kid sister. Give them a really big hug."

"I con understand that," Fenton said taking Laura's hand in his. "Still, I wish you'd stick around some, give us a chance to thank you properly."

"You don't need to, don't worry about it," Rockton said softly. "I did exactly what anyone else would do."

"No, you didn't. You did more then you had to," Fenton assured him.

The three fell into an awkward silence and tried to think of something to say. Luckily they didn't have to think long because it was at that moment that Joel decided to come in.

"Mr. Hardy! Mrs. Hardy!" he called excitedly walking up to them. "Frank just woke up! And he's fine!"

The was almost a eruption of laughter from the three people who were so relieved to hear the news. "Oh thank God," Laura cried as she hugged her husband.

"So, there's no side affects from the pills?" she asked and laughed again when Joel nodded.

"You two should probably go up and see him," Joel encouraged.

"Yeah, we should," Fenton said, standing up with Laura. "Rockton, why don't you come up with us?"

"I'm sure that you and Mrs. Hardy…" Rockton began.

"No, please. Come see him," Laura insisted.

"Ok, for a few minuets," he agreed. The three headed off to the elevator lead by Joel, and while they were waiting for the doors to open Rockton's phone went off.

"Rockton," he said into the phone.

"_Rockton it's Allen…"_

"Hey boss man, I'm at the hospital, Frank just woke up. I'm on my way to see him…"

"_That's great, Rockton listen up, this is important. Winchester committed suicide. We just found the boy."_

Rockton didn't know what to say, he just stood there stunned.

"_Rockton, you there?"_

"Yeah boss…how long?"

"_He's been dead for about two hours."_

"Why wasn't he being watched? Where was the guard?" Rockton snapped into the phone causing the other's to jump.

"_There was a fight in another part of the holding room. I'm sorry Rockton. I know you wanted this guy to be dragged through the mud. But look on the bright side, the kid's safe and he won't have to be dragged with him."_

"Yeah, the bright side. Thanks boss," he said as he hung up. He let out a frustrated sigh before turning to face three worried faces. "Winchester killed himself in lock up…" he said bluntly answering the questioning looks.


	32. Speak

Alrighty, so sorry about the wait. But hey, i think it makes up for it. So um...theres mostlikely going to be one more chap, but basicly it's done. It just depends on how finicky i feel. Enjoy.

* * *

**Speak**

It had been several weeks since they had gotten Frank back. Thanksgiving had come and gone; they had spent it in the waiting room while Frank's arm was being put back together. Now it was December, the first day of winter break and Frank had yet to return to school. He wasn't schedule to until after break. Yet still, the gossip and rumors had spread like wild fire around the school of what happened to the Hardy Boy, though none knew the whole truth.

It was a gray and overcast day that threatened snow and not the nice white fluffy snow flakes. No it was threatening the icy, slush that coated everything turning it to sleek and deadly ice. The wind was nippy, the ground wet and muddy. Everything was miserable, just like Frank Hardy.

He sat in his room, on the window seat, staring out into the world, but not seeing anything. He was dressed in pajama pants and a sweat shirt that would normally overheat him, but lately he found he just couldn't get warm. Besides he didn't have many shirts that could fit over the huge cast on his arm.

The last few weeks had been a blur for Frank with everyone in his face. Every time he moved, coughed, or yawned someone was asking if he was alright, if he needed anything. Joe had barely let him out of his sight, his father was the same. His mother hovered nearly constantly, without a clue as to help her son. In fact the only person who seemed to understand even the slightest was his Aunt go figurer, and Frank had a feeling she had set the other's straight once or twice. He also had the feeling that she was the one keeping his friends at bay, or maybe his friends didn't want to have anything to do with him?

Maybe, eventually, nobody would want to have anything to do with him and they'd all disappear like he had. Maybe he had worn them all out, frustrated them to the point where they no longer cared. After all, he had closed in on himself, drew back from his family. He had said little more then five words a day if that. He had no interest in what was going on around him, what his brother was doing, or the cases his father were working on, or even the Christmas party that his mother was planning. He had no interest in life at all and that alone should scare the hell out of him, but it didn't. He felt too lost inside.

There were days he woke up and he wasn't home at all, he was back in that room with Sir and he would never be safe again. There were days it took him hours to remember his name, to remember that he was allowed to speak, to move, and dress without permission. That he could eat when he wanted to and sleep if he had too. That no one would force him to do anything. And he was so afraid that it wasn't real, that he was dreaming that he thought it better to act like he wasn't free.

He could hear Joe coming up the stairs along with Biff. Biff had spent the night last night and the two were planning to go out to the park. He could hear them talking, a soft murmur of conversation that he couldn't make out and he felt his body tense. They stopped outside his door and Frank turned to face the door, his hart beating faster in his chest. There was a knock and then a few moment's latter Joe entered, he had learned not to wait for Frank to responded.

"Hey Frank…" he said softly, like speaking to a wounded animal. Biff was standing in the doorway watching the two.

Frank didn't responded, just watched him wearily.

"Biff and I are going out to play football with the others…." Joe started and Frank knew that he wanted to add something, but he didn't.

Again, Frank offered no reply, just watched.

"Ok, well, we'll be back sometime before dinner. Mom's out getting stuff ready for some party…I don't know where dad is," Joe said down heartedly.

Still Frank made no move to reply.

Joe just sighed and turned to leave, but Biff stopped him.

"I don't believe this! You won't even talk to him?" Biff snapped.

"Biff, don't…" was the warning that went unheeded.

"Do you understand what everyone went through? Do you even care that Joe was the only one of us who never lost faith in you? And you don't even speak to him! You, the one who attacked Joe, then ran off instead of actually telling someone what was wrong! You who got yourself kidnapped! We thought that you were dead! All of us except for Joe! And it's because of Joe that you're home! Ad you won't even speak to him! Doesn't any of it mean anything to you? Don't you have anything to say!"

Something inside of Frank was shaken. Something in him had been awaken….anger. What right did Biff had to yell at him? He hadn't been there; he hadn't had anything happen to him! What right didn't any of tem demand things from him? They didn't understand!

They didn't understand….

'So make them,' Frank's mind told him. 'They don't understand, so make them understand. Just speak,' it ordered. 'But I can't…I'll be punished,' a little voice said from somewhere else. 'Didn't he just give you permission to speak? Didn't he?'

Frank looked up at the two intruders to his room, one whose face was downcast and refused to meet anyone's eyes and the other who was a light shade of red and staring daggers at him. He took a deep breath and locked his eyes on Biff's, meeting the angry glare with one of emptiness.

"They had rules…" he said, his voice shaking slightly, "don't speak unless spoken to….I broke that rule once. He took a tazer and pressed it against the roof of my mouth…."

The silence that filled the room was suffocating. When Frank had first started to speak Joe had snapped his head up to look at his brother. Biff had taken a step back, almost afraid of Frank's voice. Now both just stared at him dumbfounded, jaw-dropped. Realization was just dawning on Frank at what he had done, and his mind started to retreat back into his time with Sir.

All at once his blank eyes filled with fear and he started to pull himself as far as he could away from the others. He pulled his legs up close to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He buried his head on his knees and his body began to rock. Joe instantly pulled himself out of his dumbness and quickly pushed Biff out of the room.

"Tell the other's I won't be coming," he said softly before shutting the door in his friend's face. He then turned to his brother and in a few quick steps he closed the distance between the two and somehow managed to get Frank to let him hold him. They sat like that for awhile, until Frank pulled away from his brother and managed to sit up with out shaking.

"I'm sorry…" Frank whispered so softly that Joe had to strain to hear him.

"You don't…." he began, wanting to wipe away the pain he saw in his brother's face.

"Yeah I do. I've been a jerk, ad I'm not just talking about lately."

"Yet somehow I think we'll forgive you. Dare I say, we may even understand?" Joe said with a smile, hoping that the joke would get his brother to smile.

In stead he just got a glare. Joe sighed; at least it was something from the old Frank. "When I…when I attacked you….Sir had told me that I had to…that I had to break away from you. He told me that if I didn't…he would kill you…" Frank broke off and Joe saw something dark flash behind his eyes. "That should have been the point when I told him to go to hell, but I couldn't. It just seemed every time I need him he was there. I first met him after that fight we had at the start of school. The one about the car…" Frank said, steeling a glance at Joe.

Joe blushed at the memory, "The one that was totally my fault and you got in trouble for it? Yeah I remember."

Frank gave a ghost of a smile and continued, "I was at the library of all places and he just listened…and it just seemed that…"

"That he cared."

Frank nodded before he continued, "I ran-away because I was afraid of myself. I never thought I could ever hurt you, I always promised myself that I'd kill myself before I'd lay a hand on you…and I broke that rule. I was afraid of what I did and that I could do it again…"

It was Joe's turn to nod and just let Frank talk. He could see the tears in Frank's eyes as he spoke and he knew he wasn't doing much better, he had a feeling that if he interrupted now Frank would clam up again.

"I had no clue where I was, or even how he found me. I just know that one moment I'm going crazy and the next his cutting my wrists open," both brothers looked down at the scar that ran diagonal across Frank's wrist and both shuttered. "I know that I passed out, I don't know what happened between when he took me and when I woke up. When I woke up I was in a crawlspace I think. There was no light except for a few cracks and no ventilation. The only thing that I could make out was this poster with the rules on it. 'No Fighting. No Talking. No Resisting. No Escape Attempts. Follow ALL Directions Without Question.'"

Again Frank paused and Joe could see the finite tremors in his body but he knew there was nothing he could do but allow his brother the time he needed. Besides his own emotions were running high and he wasn't sure speaking was a good idea right now. In fact he wasn't exactly sure sitting here and listening to his brother was the best of ideas for his sanity. 'If Frank could live through it, and if Frank can talk about it then you can listen to it,' he told himself. 'You have to or you'll lose your brother forever.'

"When they pulled me out of the closet I must have said something…I don't know…but they stuck a tazer in my mouth…" Frank swallowed and turned his head so he could see out the window. He knew that he could stop talking whenever he wanted and Joe wouldn't force him, but he also knew it wasn't fare to Joe. He'd put his family through enough hell as it was, as Biff pointed out. Besides his own sanity was wavering as of late and he was tired of not being himself. So he continued on, his voice so soft that Joe doubted he was even speaking to him.

"I was Sir's; no one was allowed to touch me except him. And I was too weak to fight him off…I couldn't stop him…" he had to stop to take a breath and wait for the memories to settle. "I can't even remember most of what happened. He usually kept me drugged. I remember the last time…and waking up in the hospital the clearest. That's about it though."

When Frank was done, Joe pulled Frank into a hug, like Frank would have done when Joe was younger and had a nightmare. There was no more need for words between the two, just physical touch. After all, you can tell someone that you're there for them but what power does that really have?

It took only seconds for Frank's control to break from the weight of his memories and he started to cry. But what's a few tears between brothers?


	33. Face It

**Face It**

It had been three months since they had gotten Frank back. Three months since Joe and he had sat huddled in Frank's room while Frank spoke for the first time. Most of the hype of the case had died down; most of the suspects had been sent to trial and convicted. Most of the victims were beginning to move on.

For Frank the last three months had been a whirlwind of emotions. He had spent most of his time on a roller coaster, going from happy to depressed to scared to angry to thankful over and over again. But each time he started to lose control he knew that he would be alright because Joe was there.

The brothers had had several long talks since that first one. They had grown closer since that day; even their friends had grown closer. As well as having long talks with Joe, Frank had had long talks with his friends, booth individually and as whole. Biff and he had managed to come to terms with each other and even forgive.

Life was starting to resemble normal again, something that all involved were grateful for. The only problem was that Frank was still having trouble coming to terms with what happened. No one was angry with him or blamed him for anything, but rank was still feeling like they should.

It was on one of these days that resembled normal where Frank found himself alone for the first time in months.

It was raining slightly and Frank was seated at the living room's bay window watching. He was in a wired mood, one that he had found himself in a lot lately. Everyone had been so good to him lately, so understanding and forgiving, and he didn't understand why. He knew that it wasn't his fault, that he had been manipulated and used against his family. But he couldn't understand how he could have let himself be so manipulated.

He played the day he met Winchester over and over again in his mind, and still there were no answers.

He had been angry; Joe and he had had a fight. He had gone to the library angry and there had been a man there willing to listen to him. A man there who had been willing to give him advice. But still, how could that have drawn Frank so deeply in that he found himself helpless.

"Penny for your thoughts?" a soft voice called from behind him.

Frank startled and turned to find his father standing the entranceway.

"I've been calling for awhile, guess you were caught up in something," Fenton said with a smile as he eyed his son.

Frank smiled at his father and turned to face him. "Just thinking," he said softly.

"You've done that a lot lately, anything you want to share?" Fenton said crossing the room to settle himself in his favorite chair.

Frank sighed and looked at his father. There was no escaping this talk; it had been coming for awhile now. Oh there had been no demands made, no real decision, more of just an understanding that eventually they would have to talk.

"I…I feel like I have to apologies," Frank said, not looking at his father.

Fenton was quite for a minuet, not really surprised at Frank's statement. Marshal had told him that some of the feelings he could expect Frank to feel was sorrow, shame, anger, and guilt.

"_The trick is knowing how to respond to theses feelings," She had told him. "Do write them off by treating them like they're wrong, that he shouldn't be having these feelings. That only makes him feel worse. He needs to know that what he's feeling isn't wrong, it's normal. Confirm these feelings, make him confront them, it's the only way for him to move on."_

"Apology accepted," Fenton said, "But I would like to know what you're apologizing for."

Frank looked up at his father, a little confused. When it came down to it, he had no idea why he was apologizing. "I don't know. I just feel like I have to."

"What else do you feel Frank?"

Frank sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. An action that mirrored Fenton to a t. "I feel like I'm the one that's to blame. Like…like I got punished for something."

Fenton held his breath, just because he had advice didn't mean that it would be easy. He wanted nothing more then to pull his son into his arms and tell him that it was all ok. That everything he was feeling wasn't true, but he knew that it wouldn't help anything. Still, it didn't stop his hart from breaking.

"What do you think you're being punished for Frank?"

"For hurting Joe…for hurting you and mom. For being stupid and letting some stranger get into my head…" Frank drifted off, he could feel the tears burning his eyes and shame and embarrassment clutching at him.

"Why Frank? Why did he get into your head?" Fenton pushed. "You're strong, smart, well adjusted so what did he do to get into your head?"

Frank thought hard, changing his focus from his father to the rain outside. The questions his father was asking were the same questions he had asked himself over and over again for a long time now. And every time he came close to an answer it seemed that it all fell apart on him. Truth was he really didn't know why, he only had an idea.

"I don't know why…" Frank said after awhile. "I only have an idea."

"What's your idea?" Fenton asked gently, leaning forward slightly.

"Everyone I know Joe knows as well. There isn't a single person in our circle of friends who is just our friend. Even Callie, Iola, Paul, and Biff are our friends. And I'm not complaining. It's great most of the time, it means that nether of us get left out. But sometimes…" Frank sighed.

"Sometimes you wished you had someone outside the group to talk to. Someone who would lean in your favor and not just take both sides," Fenton offered.

Frank nodded, but didn't continue so Fenton spoke for him.

"And when you meet Winchester you thought maybe you had that. Someone who listened to you and didn't point out your brother's virtues or feel the need to defend him."

Frank nodded.

"Is that why you're so angry at yourself? For letting a desire cloud your judgment?"

"Yeah partly," Frank chocked out. The tears were beginning to fall and he had buried his face in his knees to hid them from his father. "And partly because I'm a detective…at least I want to be. You taught Joe and me since we were old enough to walk what to look for, to follow our instincts, how to read clues…why didn't I see it? Why didn't warning bells go off?"

"Why didn't I know that you were in trouble? How could I miss the signs that my son was hurting, was being hurt? Frank you're not the only one who's been checking yourself. Since the day you went missing I've been tarring my mind apart analyzing everything, every moment. To this day I still can't understand how I missed everything. You blame yourself for bringing him into your life; I blame myself for ignoring a growing problem."

Frank looked up at his dad his eyes red and was surprised to find his dad's eyes equally as red.

Fenton matched Frank's gaze and continued, "The truth is son the blame lies with everyone. You should have told us about Winchester and you should have shown better judgment. But I should have been more aware of what was going on. I should have seen what was happening and I should have kept him away from you. But none of that justifies what was done to you, what you had to go through. Just because we made some foolish decisions doesn't mean he had the right to abduct you or rape you. There was nothing done that could even remotely justifies what he did. And you can be as angry at yourself all you like, but that doesn't change the fact that he was the bad guy and not you. That it was his fault and not yours."

The two Hardys fell silent Frank thinking about what his father had said and Fenton watching his son. Frank's body was huddled in on itself and he was shuddering, silent sobs racking his body. This wasn't the first time he had seen Frank cry since his return and he knew it wouldn't be the last.

Soundlessly Fenton did the only thing he knew to do and pulled his son into his arms. Fenton knew that today was only baby-steps and there were meaning more talks to come. But at least it was a start and at least they could finally start to move.

* * *

Well that's all folks, this story is finally done. I think it's been about a year since i started it...anyway now it's over and this means that you have to read my other stories now. P But thanks to all the reviwes and for reading. I hope you enjoyed reading this fic as much as i did writing it.

Ty


End file.
